Thorns
by lily moonlight
Summary: Mac and Stella investigate a sinister killer, who takes an interest in the CSIs, putting them all in danger. Mac/Stella, Flack, DL and the rest of the team. Drama, suspense and crime. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

-1**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY. Wish I did though…**

**Notes**** First chapter of a new story, not quite sure where it's going to end up. I promise I'll try not to kill any of our favourite characters off this time, but who knows what may happen… ! Apologies if geographical details are wrong, I've only visited New York twice. Reviews and thoughts very welcome. Thank you.**

Thorns

"Somebody wanted to say it with flowers."

Don Flack, wrapping his raincoat round him tightly against the cold Spring wind blowing off the river, stared down at the body of the woman in front of him. Not beautiful, yet there was something striking about her face: sharply cut cheekbones, a broad, full mouth and blue eyes offset by black eyebrows and lashes. Eyes wide open. Her feather cropped black hair was blown into wisps around her head. What had Flack's attention though was the cluster of pale purple roses bound round her hands with wire.

"Any ID?" Stella looked up at Flack.

"Yeah, purse was found on her. Driver's licence inside. Miss Lori Jacobs, 36. Reported missing day before yesterday by her sister."

"Who found her?" It was Mac's turn for a question. He didn't look up. His attention was focussed on the woman's hands. The thorns of the flowers had torn into her skin. Dried blood drops marked her skirt and her hands. Before Flack could answer him, he beckoned to Stella, "What do you make of this?"

She crouched beside him, "They're some nasty looking thorns…"

"Every rose…" Flack couldn't resist.

Mac sighed,"When you're done with the clichés, Flack. Perhaps you could give us your thoughts?"

"I was just about to tell you who found your vic. If you're interested."

"Go right ahead. Please." Mac humoured him.

"A worker off of the container yards, finishing his night shift at 6am came across her. No attempt to hide the body. Or to hide her identity, it was almost too easy to find out who she was. How long's she been here? Have you established TOD yet?"

"Approximately 3 hours ago, 4am or so." Stella informed him. "That's as close as we can get, allowing for the wind chill here."

"You're telling me." Flack shivered and again attempted to pull his coat round him more closely for warmth. It was a futile attempt. The wind cut bitterly through all of them. The sky was the colour of steel.

There was silence for a few minutes as they photographed and gleaned all traces of evidence from the dead woman. With delicate patience, Mac unwound the wire from her hands and freed them from the grip of the thorns.

Her death had been in a desolate place. Under the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge, a patch of waste ground off Water Street inhabited only by the sounds of the river and the far-off traffic. Pigeons watched in silent battalions above them.

Mac spoke, "We need to find out where these flowers might have come from. And the wire."

Flack moved in for a closer look, his fingers brushed the stems.

"Be careful." Mac warned, "We don't know yet if there's anything on those stems, or the thorns. Watch your fingers."

Stella grinned at him, "Remember what happened to Sleeping Beauty? One pricked finger, hundred years asleep."

Flack snorted, "That appeals right now, believe me. I need some more beauty sleep. Wait, don't even say it. "

Mac raised his eyebrows innocently, "Say what? I had no comment to make."

"Whatever. This looks to me like florists' wire, y'know, they use it to tie up bouquets, arrangements and so on…" He trailed off as he realised the two CSIs were looking at him in amusement, "Hey, I have a broad knowledge base, don't like to show it off, but you asked."

Mac placated him, "All good, Flack. You may well be right, although…" He weighted the end of the wire in his fingers, "This wire may be a little too heavy and thick for that. Adam should be able to tell us more."

"I don't think these flowers are from a florists either, look." Stella carefully held the end of the roses. "See how crooked the stems are? And the ends aren't cut perfectly straight. These look home grown…"

"…Cut with secateurs maybe?"

"Could be. Maybe our killer is a gardener?"

"With access to a whole range of lethal tools and chemicals."

Stella nodded slowly, looking over the dead woman, "No visible COD, suggests poisoning. We'll make Sid aware."

"He'll be happy to see you, as always." Mac smiled slyly at her. "Don't worry, I'll come with you."

Flack listened impatiently to their exchange before speaking up, "Hate to interrupt, but I'm freezing my ass off here. Can they take her yet?"

"We're done here. Stella?"

"All done. We'll see you back at the lab, Flack. Might even put some coffee on for you."

Flack huffed and walked away.

"Poor Flack." Stella remarked as they packed away their kits, "He didn't look too happy."

"He'll get over it." Mac was unsympathetic, "I heard him and Danny making plans for last night, blame it on that."

"Wonder what Lindsay had to say about that?" Stella mused as they walked back to the car. Neither saw high up above, the figure watching them from the bridge.

………………………………...

Adam Ross looked up as Stella walked in, "Hey, Adam. Got something interesting for you."

"Aw, Stella, flowers, you shouldn't have…"

"Just tell me if there's any trace of toxins on them, or anything else you can find. And don't stab yourself." She softened her words with a smile, "Take a look at this wire as well. It may be florists wire, it may not be."

"I'm on it." He took the evidence carefully from Stella as Mac walked up behind her, touched her on the shoulder, "Sid's clamouring for our attention."

………………………………...

Sid beckoned them over eagerly to where the body of Lori Jacobs was laid out, "Take a look at this, you two."

"What have you got for us, Sid?" Mac questioned the ME, who had a gleam behind his glasses.

"Marks, signs of a struggle. See? Here on her shoulder, and here on her neck. Also," He moved around to the other side of the body, "as you probably realised, she was still alive when her hands and feet were bound and the roses tied to her hands." He lifted her hands to show them: "See the tears on the skin, rather than a simple puncture wound?"

"She was trying to get free." Stella leaned over her, feeling a cold revulsion for what Sid had just said.

"What actually killed her though?" Mac had just an edge of impatience in his voice.

"That I can't tell you as yet, it certainly wasn't blood loss, there's actually very little. Tox reports will tell us more. My theory is that there was a toxin on the thorns, and it entered her bloodstream that way. Unusual."

"Horrible."

Sid looked over his glasses at Stella, "Particularly unpleasant, I agree. Roses are such beautiful flowers, they should be used beautifully. Such as a gift to a lady." He took a step closer to Stella. Mac opened his mouth, and was interrupted by his cell.

The call took moments, and ended with Mac's words, "We'll be there. Sid, we'll leave you to it. Contact me as soon as you have the tox reports."

"Where are we headed?" Stella didn't need to ask any more.

"TriBeCa. What do you know about model railways, Stella?"

They left Sid's domain shoulder to shoulder. He watched them go, shrugged slightly and returned to his investigations.

**Please review, any thoughts / suggestions very welcome. Rewards will follow! Next chapter should be up soon.**


	2. Chapter 2

-1**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY, wish I did though…**

**Notes**** Thank you for reviews and suggestions for the first chapter, much appreciated! Chapter 2, please let me know what you think of this one. I have the story mapped out, but keep taking a few turnings I didn't intend to. And I probably know more than is good for me about steam locos and model railways. **

_They left Sid's domain shoulder to shoulder. He watched them go, shrugged slightly and returned to his investigations._

"You know, I'm constantly surprised."

Mac looked with a crooked grin at his partner, "By what, Stella?"

"By the ways people kill other people. It still never fails to surprise me. Take our vic here…" Stella, carefully stepping back to take another photo, gestured to the latest body to fall in New York City.

"I have to admit, this is a new one on me. No one could ever say death was predictable." Mac agreed as he straightened up from the elderly man they were examining. The second crime scene of the day, and as different from the first as flowers were to machines.

They were at the headquarters of the TriBeCa N Gauge Model Railway Club, and their victim was the club's Chairman, Hank Johnson. Death, as far as could be made out from the evidence, had been caused by two scale model Union Pacific locomotives, after the victim had been electrocuted.

The electric current powering the models and the complex signalling system had been set to maximum and the control box apparently rigged. Mr Johnson, fitted with a heart device, had apparently switched on the power, received a high voltage shock then fallen unconscious across the track where the model locomotives had impacted at high speed with the side of his head. The result was a fatal skull fracture.

"Boys and their toys, Mac?" Stella asked. She touched with a gloved hand the elaborate layout of track, stations and figures.

"I can assure you, uh, ma'am, these are anything but toys." A disapproving voice caused them both to spin round. "These models alone are worth nearly two thousand dollars apiece."

Stella stepped forward, discreetly preventing the white haired man in a plaid shirt from coming any closer. "Excuse me, sir, but this is a crime scene, may I ask who you are?"

"Richard Frohlich, vice chairman. I am aware of the situation, I called the police myself. And you are?"

"Detectives Bonasera and Taylor, NYPD Crime Lab. I assume you know the deceased?" As she spoke, Stella manoeuvred the man away from the body, whilst Mac continued to process.

"Obviously I do, young lady. Hank Johnson was our chairman, and one of the most knowledgeable men on the subject of twentieth century Pacific Steam Locomotives. And before you ask, no, I cannot imagine why anyone would want to kill him."

Stella smiled sweetly at him, "Of course not. I imagine as chairman he had a great deal of respect from club members?" There was just the hint of a question in her voice, and Frohlich rose as she had guessed he would. His face flushed a dull red,

"Hank had the respect of not just this club, but the whole N Gauge Model community of Manhattan, let me tell you. He was a gentleman, and he owned the finest collection of model locomotives in the whole state." He glanced back towards the scene with a shudder. "The two, uh, on the track are two of his best."

By this time, Stella had walked him to the door, where Flack stood waiting.

"Flack, this is Mr Frohlich, vice chairman. He found Mr Johnson." She turned to the old man. "Perhaps you could accompany Detective Flack, and answer some questions? It's standard procedure in a situation like this. You could be very helpful. And we'd like to speak to all your club members as soon as possible."

Frohlich nodded, reluctantly, "Very well, yes. Anything that may help." He looked back once more at the body, and sighed, his head lowered towards his chest: "Hank was a good friend, a good man."

Over him, Flack raised his eyebrows at Stella, who shrugged in return.

"Thank you, sir." Flack let the man pass in front of him, then spoke to Stella, "You almost done?"

"Almost. We'll finish up and follow you back."

Flack nodded and left.

Stella returned to Mac, who was lifting a fingerprint off the side of the control box. He held it triumphantly, "Damn near perfect prints. And I have a theory."

"That so? I have one too, if you're interested."

"Always. Is it anything to do with Mr Johnson's large and probably exceptionally valuable collection of model locomotives?"

"I'd certainly be interested to know if any are missing, and how he came by them all."

"So would I." Mac returned. "I want DNA and prints from all the club members. Somebody knows something, I don't think this is a random killing. I'll ask Danny and Hawkes to help us out on this one, as we still have the Jacob's case to work on."

"The dead wait for no one."

He looked at her intently, "Something bothering you, Stella?"

Her face was set in a tight-lipped frown, "I don't know. There was just…" She shook her head, "I was thinking about our first vic, and now this guy. Not a good way to die, things used in the wrong way."

"There aren't many good ways to die, we should know." His voice was gentle at first, then his eyes narrowed, coming to the same conclusion as he thought she had, "Are you thinking there's a link between the two?"

"I don't know, Mac. Only in the thought maybe." She sighed, "Let's get all we can here and keep going."

They worked steadily for another hour pulling fibres, hairs, traces of coal dust and fragments of metal. The interior became oppressive. Both slumped slightly in relief when they realised they had got all they could.

Mac confirmed what Stella was thankful to hear, "I think we're finished here now. Let's have Sid take a closer look at our vic. And we can get talking to the boys with the toys."

………………………………...

Stella drove them back to the lab. En route, Mac's cell rang. After a brief conversation, he closed it with a frown.

"Mac?"

"Take a left here, Stella. We've got another call. DB in Battery Park . It looks like another the same as Lori Jacobs."

"So it goes on." Stella murmured, "I don't like how this is going, Mac."

"Nor do I. If this is a serial…"

"Let's see what we get at the scene."

It was a short journey. They pulled up behind the marked cars beside a bare stretch of grass. Yellow tape sagged between markers, and a small cluster of uniformed officers stood by. What they saw behind the tape made their hearts turn as cold as the knifing wind.

**Yes, I'm a bit of a train spotter, my dad's fault (who has driven the Hogwarts Express!) Please let me know what you think, reviews very welcome, and I will try and answer them all. I've also given up sweets and chocolates for Lent, so have a large stockpile going spare!**


	3. Chapter 3

-1**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY, wish I did though.**

**Notes**** Thank you very much for reviews, really appreciated, please continue to let me know what you think about where the story is going. Chapter three where events are taking a sinister turn…**

Crime Lab:

Flack stumped along the corridor and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass, "Damn!" He growled. He stopped and pulled at his face, "I look like crap."

"I ain't gonna argue with you on that one." Another reflection joined his. Danny, grinning. "So, Flack, looking good."

He didn't bother to turn around, "Oh yeah. I can look at my pretty face all day. Yours on the other hand…"

"Is a damn sight better than yours. I lost count of your drinks sometime after 2 am." Danny clapped him a little too hard on the back, "Best night I've had in…"

Another reflection joined theirs. Both men turned round apprehensively. Lindsay stood there with her arms folded, a look that was not happy on her face.

"Hey, Lindsay." Flack said too brightly.

"Flack. Danny."

"Montana, I was just saying to my good friend, Donald Flack here, what a great night out you missed, and how much I missed you being there and…"

"Cut the crap, Danny. I don't want to hear the sordid details of your boozy night out."

Danny shuffled his feet and looked about for somewhere other than her face to put his gaze.

She continued, "Mac's asked Hawkes and us to start gathering DNA and fingerprints from the people involved in his and Stella's dead model maker. So, when you're ready?"

She spun on her heel and marched off, leaving an embarrassed silence. Danny cleared his throat.

Flack whistled softly, "She looked pissed. Well, I got a suspect to talk to, I suggest you follow her fast. And say nothing about what happened after 3 am."

He was gone leaving Danny frantically trying to recall what had happened after 3 am. Surely they hadn't… no, they wouldn't have… would they?

He set off after Lindsay.

………………………………...

"Yes!" Adam punched the air and cut a little dance in front of his computer, "Gotcha!"

He picked up the small section of rose stem in front of him and stroked it lovingly, "Mac and Stella are gonna be very happy with you my little friend."

He pulled out his cell and dialled Mac's number.

………………………………...

Mac's face was rigid as he and Stella looked down at their third body of the day. And the day still had many hours to run.

"This is not what I wanted to see." Stella voiced exactly Mac's thoughts, "This is looking like a serial."

"I hate to say it, but yes, that's what it looks like." He said grimly.

Another woman, another bunch of wired roses, another death.

The officer at the scene strode over to them, both knew him on first name terms, Detective Russ Zweig. A small, lean man in his fifties with deceptively gentle brown eyes.

"Mac, Stella, good to see you both."

"You too, Russ. What you got for us?"

"Not a whole lot more than you probably know, I spoke to Flack earlier, he told me this may be a second?" He looked from one to the other. A light rain blew in from the river and stung their skin.

"It's looking like it could be." Mac replied cautiously.

Zweig blew air out through his teeth, "Let's hope not, huh? What can I tell you about this girl? Well, we got the call 'bout an hour ago. Usual story: woman walking her beloved pooch, pooch scoots off to do a little digging and there she is. Here we are."

"Here we are." Echoed Stella, "Do we know who she is?"

"Yeah, that was the easy part, drivers' licence in her back pocket, name of Miss Jennifer Steinler, 39, resident of Brooklyn. Reported missing three days ago."

Mac looked sideways at Stella, her eyes met his. He knew what she was thinking.

He turned to Zweig, "Similar to our previous vic, unmarried woman, reported missing. See what else you can find out for us about her."

"Will do."

"Thanks, Russ." Mac replied, "We'll start processing."

Stella remained silent. Mac placed a hand on her arm, "What are you thinking?"

Before she could answer, Mac's cell rang, "Taylor."

"Mac, it's Adam, got some good news for you. I've identified your flowers - reine des violettes roses, a hybrid perpetual rose originating in Britain, flourishes in temperate climates such as New York City, but not the easiest rose to grow and these were home cultivated: flowers grown commercially are drenched in weed killer and chemicals, these were not. Well, not your usual chemicals, but I'll come to that in a bit. So. As for your wire, it's made of a lead compound, used for soldering. Something that size I'm guessing would probably be used for joining small pieces of metal."

"And what was on the flowers?"

"I was coming to that, saving the best till last for ya. Atropa Belladonna, known also as Deadly Nightshade. The stems and thorns were coated in a substance extracted from the juice of the plant which is highly toxic. It effectively causes respiratory and eventually heart failure. In a concentrated form, it doesn't take much. Once it enters the bloodstream, you're running out of time for the antidote. That was one deadly bunch of flowers. That's all I got for you for now. I'm just gonna start on the traces found at your second crime scene."

"Good work thanks, Adam."

Mac snapped his phone shut and gave Stella the information.

Her jaw tightened, "Someone has had this all planned; the flowers, the poison, the victims. And no attempt to hide who they are. This killer's arrogant."

"But we're smarter." Mac countered with a smile, "Pride comes… Sooner or later, sooner if we have anything to do with it, he, or she will slip up."

"Well, let's make sure it's before we find another body. Come on, Mac. This is going to be a long day and night."

The night had closed in firmly around them before they finished, and the body was removed. Neither wanted to miss even the smallest particle of evidence, and amongst the dead leaves, grass and trash blown about across the scene there was much to find. The small numbers of passers by stopping and staring did not escape their attention either: each face was caught by Mac's camera. All but one. One face was very careful not to be caught, standing far enough away to avoid observation, but close enough to watch the two detectives. Close enough to watch the woman's body as it was finally removed from the scene. There would soon be another for them to find. And it would not be the last.

**More to come very soon, had got a bit stuck with this one but think I'm back on track : ) Please tell me what you think, I love to hear from everyone, and promise to try and reply. **


	4. Chapter 4

-1**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY, wish I did though.**

**Notes**** Thank you very much for reviews, really appreciated, please continue to let me know what you think about where the story is going. I'm a bit behind in my replies, sorry but will answer as soon as possible. Chapter Four: are Mac, Stella and the team facing a serial killer?**

His door opened, and without looking up, knowing who it was, Mac spoke, "Let's go through everything we know, Stella."

Stella sat down opposite her partner and placed a cup of coffee in front of him. He took it with a smile, "Thanks."

"Gotta have something to keep us going. I see this turning into a long night."

They both knew she was right. They had pieces in front of them, fragments of something. What they could do now was share the pieces, maybe argue over them, turn them round, fit them together. Until they could see what they were looking for.

They settled themselves either side of Mac's desk. It was past late, the night sky had long been a curtain at the window and no one else was in the building.

"You start." Mac gave Stella the opening, "Who are our vics?"

"Two… so far. Both women, similar ages, both single. First was Lori Jacobs, 36, a dental nurse who lived with her sister in Queens. Reported missing by her sister two days before she was found. Flack has spoken to her."

"Previous relationships?" Mac threw in.

She looked at Flack's notes, "According to her sister, she broke things off with her last boyfriend six months ago."

"Somewhere else to look, any previous partners in common."

Stella nodded, and continued, counting her points off on her fingers, "Could be. Second vic is Jennifer Steinler, 39, lived alone and worked as a waitress. Reported missing by her colleagues three days ago when she didn't show for work. Nothing previous for either of them."

Mac drummed his fingers on the desk, "So they were missed enough to be reported, they had people around them."

"Not enough though. It wasn't enough to keep them safe."

Both fell silent. Out in the corridor, the lights flickered.

………………………………...

In the depths of the city that never sleeps, someone lay awake. A fluorescent bulb cracked and fizzed on the ceiling of the room. Outside the window the night waited. Never black in the city, there were always lights and colours: the neons of the shops that never shut, the yellow of lamps glowing from windows and inside the room the purple of roses under a strip of white light.

The occupant of the room lay on a hard mattress. It made his spine ache. He shifted position and heard the floor creak. Only a few more hours and it would be time again.

The headlights of a passing car angled through the window, the light glancing off a coil of thick wire on the bedside table. The man grunted and rolled over on to his front, "Damn mattress. Damn see through blinds, should've got blackouts…"

Muttering, he pressed his face into the greasy pillow and was soon asleep. His alarm would wake him in a few hours, before the sun rose. A scent, the heavy perfume of old briars and sweetness drifted through the room from the flowers trapped in a jar of water.

………………………………...

Mac looked at Stella, and saw the sadness and anger in her eyes, and something else. What she had just said caught at him. Keeping people safe. That was what they tried to do. The city, the team, themselves. And it never left him that without her, he would not be there. He reached across and rested his hand on hers for a moment, "Stella, we couldn't save those women, but you know even without me saying it that we can save others. And we can bring justice to whoever killed them. Somewhere amongst all this is what we need, and we're going to find it."

"I know, Mac." She picked up her pen, determination in her face, despite a rueful smile "Sometimes personal feelings, and memories, rear their ugly heads. Okay, who they are. Flack and Zweig can check out backgrounds further and Angell if we need her to, previous partners and so on. Now, MO?"

"Unusual." Mac picked up his cue. She wanted to continue. He stood and began to pace the room, the rhythm connecting his thoughts as he spoke, "Kidnap - I think they were taken forcibly and held, the gap between disappearance and TOD in each case is approximately 48 hours. Let's assume he targets his victims, takes the opportunity and seizes them."

"Drugging them at some point." Stella interjected, "Sid found traces of a morphine based drug in their blood. Then we have the plant based toxin."

"So our killer knows plants, a horticulturalist or at the least, a knowledgeable amateur gardener. He chooses to use roses to administer the toxin. He could have just simply injected it. Why this way?"

Stella tapped her pen then sat back, fingertips together and spoke slowly, "Because he, and I think it is a he, was saying something very deliberate with his choice of flowers. Corny as it was, Sid actually had a point earlier."

"How so?"

"When he said how flowers should be used, and are usually used. As a gift, or to declare love. But poisoned flowers, forcibly given, tied with wire, that's the flip side, twisted. Not love, hatred."

"Or obsession, love spurned maybe?"

"Maybe. And the colour too. For love, I'd expect red roses, wouldn't you?"

Mac smiled, "Of course, Stella."

"Not that I often get them… however," She gave him a grin, "Beside the point. I think the colour's also significant. Our killer is telling us, and his vics something. So let's do a little digging on the meaning of purple flowers."

A voice at the door made both their heads jerk upwards, "No need. I can tell you that. Enchantment. Purple means enchantment."

**Please tell me what you think, I love to hear from everyone, and promise to try and reply. Little bit of a shorter chapter. Hopefully not too dull with too much dialogue and exposition. More action next chapter!**


	5. Chapter 5

-1**Disclaimer**** I own very little apart from pens and paper, especially not CSI NY. Wish I did though.**

**Notes**** Sorry this has taken a while to arrive, assignments and deadlines have taken a lot of time : ( Still, nearly Easter break, hooray! Thank you for all previous reviews, I love to read them, please add more and let me know what you think. Thank you for not giving up on the story. **

**Chapter 5: Some interesting discoveries are made, but can they prevent any more deaths?**

Thorns: Chapter 5

Both Mac and Stella felt their hearts leap in shock as the voice at the door interrupted them.

"Sid! What are you still doing here?" Stella demanded, relief sharpening her voice.

Looking slightly guilty about the effect he had had on them both, Sid put only a foot into the room. He was in casual clothes, and his glasses lay unclipped round his neck. "I'm sorry I startled you both, but I was stopping off here on my way home and heard you talking about one of the very things I had come to tell you."

"Come on in, Sid, you're forgiven." Mac indicated a spare chair, and Sid took it. "Tell us what you know about the colour purple."

"Not much more than you just heard," he admitted. "I must tell you I was intrigued by the colour of the roses particularly, and so I did a little digging after I'd finished the autopsies - I have the results of them also by the way," He passed the folder to Stella, "But as I said my curiosity was piqued. Purple, particularly purple flowers, are a symbol of enchantment and love at first sight."

Mac interrupted, "Had they been sexually assaulted?"

"There was no sign of sexual assault." Sid paused. Stella felt a chill slip through her.

Mac's face was thoughtful, "Then that wasn't what the killer wanted. It wasn't about sex. It was something else. Enchantment. Poisoned flowers, and a message."

Sid continued, indicating the folder Stella still held in her hand, "There's no doubt that the poison on the flowers was the COD. The traces of morphine I found in their blood was not enough to be fatal, just enough to sedate them. The tropane alkoloids from the belladonna," he glanced at Stella, "were the culprit. And I have to tell you the amount that entered their bloodstream could have been countered with the pilocarpine antidote, if they'd been found a couple of hours sooner."

Stella's hand clenched on the folder, "But he made sure they wouldn't be found in time."

They knew she was right. And they knew that someone else could be running out of time.

………………………………...

A smoke grey dawn crept into the city. It pushed its way through grimy glass and the thin material of a blind into his room. The air in the room was thick and humid, overwhelming. But the scent of roses still lay under it.

A rattle, and then the alarm clock on the beside table shrilled. The man in the bed, shapeless under the comforter, stirred and grunted before heaving himself up with a groan. He ambled across the room, carefully stretching his stiff joints.

Once dressed he descended the stairs heavily, deciding the wood creaked almost as much as his knees did in the mornings. He smiled to himself in appreciation of his own wit. The door to the basement, another job that he had neglected due to other interests, stuck as usual against the frame, so he shoved it hard with his shoulder and it popped open. He walked in. The room was warm. His shoulder twinged, and he rubbed it as he reached for the light cord.

The cheap bulb cast a sullen ochre light around the room. Enough to show him the figure of a woman lying on a mattress in the corner. He wiped a thin sheen of sweat from his forehead. His fat, white fingers twisted together as he padded across the room and lowered himself into a crouch beside the woman. She lay face to the wall, her back turned to him.

With one finger, he stroked the length of her spine and smiled as she stirred.

He murmured to her, and his voice dripped with anticipation and greed, "Almost time, my dear."

………………………………...

Seven o'clock in the morning. Danny sauntered towards the entrance to the lab, and gave a gentle tug to the back of Lindsay's hair, "Hey. How you doin'?"

She flicked her hair out of his grasp, "I'm good."

"That's good, glad to hear it."

They walked towards the elevator, Danny trailing after her. He stood leaning his elbow against the wall as they waited for the car to descend, "I'm sensing a little coldness from you, Montana…"

She froze him with a look. "I'm fine. If you and Flack wanna spend a drunken night doing whatever, that's fine."

"Is that what this is about? Cos if it is, then just say so if you have a problem with it. Nothing happened. We went out, we had a few beers, end of story."

Lindsay opened her mouth to answer back, when Flack himself breezed up to them, hit the elevator button and stepped in as the doors opened for him, "Morning you two."

They rode up in silence. Danny frowning, Lindsay sullen, and angry with herself for being so, Flack unconcerned as he munched a candy bar. They reached the lab and Lindsay pushed out first past them. Danny started to follow her then caught the other man's eye.

Flack winked and tapped his nose, "3 am, Danny." He said through a mouthful of candy and was striding away down the corridor before Danny could retaliate. It was going to be a long day.

………………………………...

He thought the break room was empty, but as Hawkes entered, he saw Stella sitting on one of the chairs. She was leaning back, eyes closed, one hand holding a cup of coffee which was dangerously close to slipping from her fingers. He rescued it and placed it gently on the table. Then tiptoed past her to make himself a drink. As he opened the fridge he glanced at her with a small smile on his face. She still hadn't stirred. He drew the only conclusion and wondered how often after he and the rest of the team had left, she and Mac stayed on. And Mac was worse. Hawkes had lost count of the times he had arrived early and discovered that the head of the lab had spent the night as its sentinel. He shook his head, and Mac himself walked in, his face creased in a frown.

"Hawkes, we need…"

He stopped short seeing Hawkes put his finger to his lips, and nod over to Stella. But she had already jolted awake, eyes still hazy, and slightly bemused, "What…? Mac? We need to talk to Hawkes.. Oh, you're here."

"It's okay, Stella, I was coming to see both of you." Hawkes grinned at her, "As you're both here, I can tell you. Prints from your model railway murder - we got three good sets off of the control box and the locomotives themselves. One are the vic's, the others we got no hits in AFIS for, but Lindsay's running them now against the prints we collected from the club members. There was also a nice trace of skin and blood on the underside of the control box where it had been tampered with, looks like whoever did it caught themselves on a wire end. Again, we're matching it up to the DNA samples from the club."

"Good work." Mac sighed, "I wish our other case could be as clear cut as this seems to be." He sat down heavily next to Stella. She put her hand briefly on his arm.

Hawkes lifted his eyebrows, "Which is the reason neither of you went home last night?" They both looked guilty, and he pressed on, "I know you won't listen to me, but I'm going to say it anyway… You don't sleep, you don't function. It's as simple as that. You both know that."

Stella began to interrupt him heatedly, "It's not as simple…"

He carried on regardless, ignoring her glare, "And if you're not functioning, you slip up. I know. I'm a doctor, I'm allowed to say this. Sometimes you need someone to tell you things you've forgotten. I don't want to have to say 'I told you so'."

Before either of them could argue with him, Lindsay rushed in, success in her face, "We've got matches for the fingerprints and the DNA! Two of the club members as we thought; Richard Frohlich and David Matthews."

Mac and Stella stood, Hawkes's words forgotten.

"Well done, Lindsay." Stella said, fully awake now.

Mac's face was set, "Let's bring them in."

**Not loads of action, I know, sorry. But things are building up. Please tell me what you think, especially if I got Hawkes's 'voice' right. I love to hear from everyone, and I will try and reply. Next chapter up in a couple of days, promise!**


	6. Chapter 6

-1**Disclaimer**** Apart from pens and paper, I own very little, especially not CSI NY. Wish I did though.**

**Notes**** Thank you to all my reviewers, I love to hear what you think, and really appreciate you taking the time to do so. Please continue, or start here!**

**Chapter 6: Can they catch a killer? **

Thorns: Chapter 6

"Who do you like for it, Montana?"

"For what?" Lindsay was frowning. Not a good sign, but Danny persevered. They were both standing behind the glass as Flack and Stella brought in their first suspect for the murder of Hank Johnson

"The model murder. The fat man or the plaid shirt man? My money's on the shirt. Never trust a plaid shirt."

He smiled hopefully at her, and despite herself she returned it, "Be serious, Danny."

His smile widened, "Who says I'm not? C',mon Linds, what say we grab some coffee later?"

It was, she knew, his way of an apology. And she was more than ready to accept, "Sure, if we get the chance." She took a deep breath, "And… and I'm sorry for getting mad."

Danny crossed his arms, "Don't be. I was a jerk. So, we're good?"

"We're good. Thanks, Danny."

"Cool." He grinned.

She squeezed his hand quickly as Mac walked in.

"Lindsay, I need you to run these through trace for me." He handed her some bags of fibres and small pieces of a metallic looking substance, "These are from the second woman in our poison flowers case, the one found in Battery Park."

"Sure, Mac." She left after giving Danny a quick grin.

"Danny, I want you to go over the clothes of both women again."

"Okay boss." He looked hard at Mac through his glasses. "I was thorough the first time."

Mac sighed, "I know you were. But there has to be something we missed. If we've got a serial…"

Danny nodded, knowing it was not the time to take offence, and that Mac had intended none. Looking closely at him, he saw the grey pallor in his face. Things were not going well. Well, whatever he could do, he would, "Say no more, Mac. I'm on it."

He was gone before Mac could blink, or thank him. Instead he turned to observe as Flack and Stella began the interview with the first suspect for the Hank Johnson murder. For a second he leaned his forehead against the cold glass. Perhaps they could close this case at least.

………………………………...

"Mr Matthews, do you know why you're here?" Flack sat back and waited for an answer from their suspect. Stella stood beside him.

The man smiled apologetically, "I believe it has something to do with my fingerprints on the control box of Hank's layout?"

"That's correct. Your prints, Mr Matthews, were found on the casing and the underside of the box. Can you tell us how they might have got there?" Flack folded his arms.

"Am I under arrest?" Mr Matthews asked him politely and placed his hands on the table. There were traces of dirt under his fingernails.

"No." Stella answered him, "Not as yet. At this stage we have some questions for you, and we'd appreciate your cooperation."

"Very well." Matthews nodded, "I'm happy to answer your questions as I have nothing to hide. And I had no reason to kill Hank. My prints were on that control box for two reasons: the first being that Hank and I had used his layout the day before he was killed, and the second being that I'd done a small repair job on the outer casing, which involved removing it, that same day. Hence I touched the inside." With a small show of pride he added, "You may not think so, but I have not a little talent with the mechanics of model railways. Hank knew this and often asked me to patch up his locos. He was beginning to suffer from rheumatism, so I was in fact in the middle of building a complete loco for him. He was paying me to do so."

"You build them?" Stella raised her eyebrows.

Matthews nodded enthusiastically, "I do. They come in kit form, you build them, then paint and decal them. It's an art form, detectives." The gleam of the true enthusiast was in his eyes.

Flack stared at the unlikely artist sitting across from him. The man was easily as tall as he was, and at least a hundred pounds heavier. In his early sixties, he had pale, heavy skin and straggling grey hair through which his scalp was faintly pink and shining. The thought struck him that you really could never tell with people.

"Can you think of any reason why Mr Johnson was killed?" He asked him.

Matthews twisted his hands and looked uncomfortable, "I really - I really wouldn't like to say… Hank is, was, a popular chairman."

"But not popular with everyone?" Stella pressed him. She remembered suddenly Richard Frohlich's vehement denial of any unpopularity around Hank Johnson. Perhaps too vehement.

Matthews paused. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped it across his face, "No, no he wasn't. Not with everyone. Any kind of organisation like ours you get jealousy and rivalry. Usually over the models, you know. Who had the most expensive, the fastest, the biggest."

Stella risked sending a quick glance to Flack, whose eyebrows were in his hair. She couldn't help the feeling that they had been given a glimpse into a whole different world. She cleared her throat, "Someone was jealous of Hank's, er, models?"

Matthews looked penetratingly at her, "Some of his locos are worth more than 2000 dollars. And sometimes Hank could be less than tactful."

"To anyone in particular recently?" Flack sat forward.

Matthews avoided his gaze, his eyes stayed on Stella, "There'd been an unpleasant argument between Hank and Richard recently. Some of us overheard at the last club meeting."

"Richard?"

"Frohlich, our deputy chairman. We gathered it was something to do with money."

"Well, well, well." Flack said. He scraped his chair back. "That's very interesting, Mr Matthews."

Stella put her hands on her hips, as she and Flack came to the same conclusion. They exchanged a look, and then she spoke to the man waiting patiently in the chair. "We need you to remain here for a little longer, Mr Matthews, but I think that's all for now. Thank you, you've been very helpful."

Flack escorted the man out, and then returned to the room. Mac joined them a moment later.

"Big boys and their toys." Stella murmured. Flack smirked, and then wilted under Mac's straight-faced gaze.

"Perhaps you could bring Mr Frohlich in, Flack. Seems like he might have a lot to tell us. About his models."

"Sure, Mac." He shot out of the door.

"Well? What do you think?" Mac demanded of his partner.

"Other than that I've been given a glimpse into a strange and slightly terrifying world that I never even knew existed? Seriously though, Mac, I think this guy's odd, but I don't think he killed Hank Johnson. And despite his fingerprints, the evidence isn't against him. It's not his DNA on the wiring in the box and far as we can tell the motive wasn't there. Johnson was paying him for work, why would he want to stop that?"

"There could be reasons." Mac countered, "However, I agree for now. Let's talk to Frohlich, see if he can explain himself."

She nodded, "Let's do it."

**A bit short I'm afraid, but wanted to get it posted as I am away for a couple of weeks on Sunday and may not have internet access : ( **

**Chapter 7 will be up as soon as possible.**


	7. Chapter 7

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-1**Disclaimer**** Apart from pens and paper, I own very little, especially not CSI NY. Wish I did though.**

**Notes**** I found internet access! So here's the next chapter a little late. Thank you to all my reviewers, I love to hear what you think, and really appreciate you taking the time to do so. Please continue, or start here! **

**Chapter 7: Truth in the details**

Thorns: Chapter 7

Richard Frohlich was nervous. Nervous, and guilty. Stella, sitting back for the moment as Flack tossed questions at the man, saw it in his fingers clenching and unclenching, the tic below his left eye, and the dry little cough he gave each time he answered. She watched him, her head a little on one side, and saw everything he gave away. Frohlich had killed Hank Johnson. The truth was in the details. 

After their first round of questions, and her presentation of the evidence against him, he had requested his lawyer. And so here they all sat. Stella was tired. So tired she could feel herself losing the struggle to stifle another yawn. Frohlich's lawyer glanced disdainfully at her, and she resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him - smug and smarmy little man, she thought in disgust. They had been sitting in the room for over two hours, and even the clock seemed to be slowing down. The early afternoon light was heavy through the blinds. She dug her fingernails into her palms and shifted slightly in the chair. But Flack was getting to him. She knew the signs, and knew that Flack did too. She watched him sit back in his chair and fold his hands across his chest as Frohlich began to stammer. Then suddenly, she had had enough. 

"Mr Frohlich," Stella leaned across, her elbows on the table, "You killed Hank Johnson. We have your prints, we have your DNA, we know how you killed him. The only thing we don't know is why. So why don't you save us all a lot of time and effort and just tell us. Was it jealousy? Were you jealous that he had a better collection than you? Was that it, huh?" All her frustration and tiredness spilled over and she was on her feet, her voice raised , "An argument over your toys. You killed a man for that? You're a disgrace, Mr Frohlich."

The lawyer was on his feet, a virtuous show of outrage in his face, "Detective Bonasera, I don't know who you think you are…"

"The clue is in the detective." She snapped. 

But before either of them could say any more, Frohlich was on his feet, "All right!" He yelled, "That's it. I did it, I killed him, I'm a disgrace. You want to know why? Well, I'll tell you. I hated that man, hated him. Ever since he became chairman all he ever did was go on and on and on about his collection of locomotives. How he had the best in the whole goddam state, how he could afford more than any of us. Well, I was sick of it."

His lawyer was a delicate shade of purple, "Mr Frohlich! I really feel…"

Frohlich turned on him, "Shut up, you've been worse than useless you young fool." Then he was back to Stella, "And one more thing young lady, it's never just about toys. You may think it is, but some people are deadly serious, just remember that."

Stella couldn't trust herself to speak. Flack broke in, deciding it was time to intervene, "Are you making a confession, Mr Frohlich?"

"Yes I am son." All the anger drained from him in an instant, and he became an old man as he slumped back in his chair, "I've had enough. I'm sorry now, for what I did. I shouldn't have killed him and I'm sorry. Jealousy. Just do what you have to, I'm done." His head dropped into his trembling hands.

It should have been a victory, but Stella felt only a bone-numbing weariness. Another pointless death. Another life over too soon. Two lives; for Richard Frohlich's life was almost over now. She could see that in the details: the blue tinge to his lips, and the little gasps behind each breath. She sat, and could say nothing.

………………………………...

Mac had seen the whole scene. As the afternoon wore on, he watched the grey shadows slide along the walls, felt the muscles in his whole body begin to burn. He had stood in the same position for all the hours that Flack and Stella had been enclosed in the room with their suspect. And, knowing exactly how she felt, he had seen Stella's anger. 

He saw her now as Frohlich was led away. She was still sitting, her shoulders drooping. Flack, turning to leave, said something to her and she shook her head. He shrugged and left the room, and Mac went in.

"Stella." He sat down opposite and looked carefully at her, "Are you all right?"

She sighed, "I don't know, Mac. Yes, I think." She studied his face, "You're tired."

"So are you."

Neither of them noticed Hawkes's soft footsteps come into the room, "You both are. I think you should both go home." He continued, anticipating what they were both about to say, "We can manage here. You've just closed a case, the rest of us are working on the evidence for your other two so we can spare you. Just go home and sleep for a few hours, if anything happens here we'll call you. You know you can trust us, Mac."

There was never any doubt about that for Mac. He looked at Hawkes and saw the concern in his face for both of them. He appreciated it, and he realised that Hawkes was right. If they got a few hours sleep they would be the better for it.

"All right, you win. This time. Stella, consider yourself officially dismissed by Dr Hawkes." He felt for the first time that day a small smile lighten his face, made easier by the smile he saw Stella give him.

"Okay, Hawkes, we're outta here, but I'll remember this."

"You do that, Stella." Hawkes grinned as he made sure they left the room. He also made sure they left the building; accompanying them down in the elevator, and steering them gently out of the door with a wave, "I'll see you much later."

As Hawkes watched them walk away, he hoped that he would be proved right.

………………………………...

The afternoon was closing in. The sky above the city was milk white, and the wind breathed cold and damp around them. Anyone watching would have noticed how they walked together, arms almost touching. Anyone who noticed the details. 

Mac put his hand lightly on Stella's back as he guided her past the knot of people gathered round a street vendor. She spoke suddenly, after walking most of their path in a thoughtful silence, "Is it ever worth it, Mac? Killing another human being? The reasons we hear why people kill each other, are they ever worth it?" Her face was troubled, and he knew why. 

His hand stayed close to her, "Sometimes it has to happen. You know that, Stella. But Richard Frohlich's reason wasn't worth it, and I think he knows that now. At the time though, it must have seemed it and I guess he's going to regret that for the rest of his life."

"Yes," she said and her voice was hollow, "I think he will."

………………………………...

Mac walked her to her apartment, and said goodbye at the door. She closed it behind her and stood still for a long time, her eyes fixed on nothing. Then she lay down on her bed, fully dressed and drifted into a sleep filled with no dreams, only images of train tracks running round and round, and the feeling that she should have looked more closely.

After he had left Stella at her door, Mac walked back to his own building, oblivious for once of the crowds that surged round him. He walked his own path. Once inside, away from the world, he lay on his couch and stared at the ceiling without seeing. There were things clawing at the edge of his mind; words that he knew he should remember but were slipping away from him, elements that he knew he should have seen but had not. He struggled to grasp hold of them too late, sleep took him.

When her phone woke her only hours later, Stella at first felt only relief for the release from a suffocating sleep. She answered it, rubbing the tiredness from her eyes, and then felt her heart sink as she took in what Hawkes was telling her.

"Stella," There was a pause, "I'm sorry to do this to you, but…"

"We've got another scene, same as before, you don't need to tell me." She ran her hand through her hair and pulled herself to her feet, "It's okay, I'm on my way. Does Mac know?" Holding the phone next to her shoulder, she pulled her coat on.

"He's just about to. We're at the Port Authority. I'll see you there."

"Ten minutes." Grabbing her bag, she was already halfway through the door.

"Drive carefully."

"Always do." She slammed the door, snapped her phone shut, and walked quickly down the hallway. A third death. It would take her less than ten minutes.

**Thanks for reading, hope you're intrigued! Next chapter up soon: one killer caught, one still free to kill again?**

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	8. Chapter 8

-1**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY. Wish I did though.**

**Notes**** Here's the next chapter fuelled by chocolate ; ) A little longer than the previous ones so I hope that's okay. Thank you for reviews, I love to know what you think, and really appreciate you taking the time to do so. Please continue, or start here! **

**Chapter 8: Who waits in the darkness?**

Thorns: Chapter 8

"How long ago did you call them?" Detective Zweig prowled restlessly around the scene.

Hawkes flipped his phone open and shut, "Nearly twenty minutes ago." He tried not to imagine what could have gone wrong during a short car journey through the city.

Zweig clicked his teeth, "It's past rush hour."

"Only just. They're probably caught in traffic." This failed to convince either of them.

"Sure. Traffic."

Another five minutes passed. Hawkes put his phone away, took it out again. Where the hell were they both?

Then Mac appeared round the corner striding towards them. Not in a good mood.

"Everything all right?" Hawkes asked him, "We were beginning to worry."

"Fine. Traffic. Where's the body?" Then he noticed and his eyes fixed on Hawkes, "Where's Stella?"

Zweig interrupted, "She didn't come with you?"

"No. Did you call her after you called me?"

"I called her first."

He was already dialling her number. Hawkes held his breath.

They both sagged visibly when she answered it.

"Bonasera."

"Stella, where are you?"

"I'm right behind you both."

They turned, and there she was appearing through the dusk. Hawkes could almost feel the anger sparking off her. Her eyes glinted green fire

"What kept you?" Mac was blunt, now he knew she was safe.

"Someone slashed my tyres. Had to get a cab."

"What! Did you see who did it?"

"No. I've logged it and asked for the security tapes. I'm handling it, Mac. It's not important."

She pushed away before they could ask her any more, and walked over to the body. Hawkes watched as Mac's face set in a mask. "Talk to her later." He said quietly. Mac nodded stiffly, and went to join her. Hawkes followed, troubled. He didn't know how much longer either of them could go on like this. Someone was going to break soon. Stella was a breath away from a blazing outburst, and Mac, a heartbeat from imploding. All he could do was offer as much as he could. And hope it was enough to hold them together. He joined them around the dead woman.

Mac was already questioning the detective.

"Who is she? Any ID?"

Zweig answered him, "Yep, same as the last woman, driver's licence stuck in her back pocket. Ms Sophie Gonzalez, 39, lives in Queens. I've got my boys contacting her family."

The wind blew mist in from the river which clung to their skin. It pearled on the woman's raven black hair. Hair that fell in waves to her waist. Sophie Gonzalez. No one spoke. Hawkes examined her carefully whilst Stella extricated her hands from the death grip of the flowers.

Mac moved out of their way, ready to take the perimeter, and spoke to Zweig, "Who found her, Russ?"

"Sophomore at Columbia on his way home for the Spring break. I'm heading off to talk to him later; he's over at Trinity as we speak. Dumb ass kid couldn't keep his hands to himself and touched the body, stuck himself on the thorns." Zweig shook his head, "He should be okay, they got him in time - came over dizzy, then admitted what he'd done."

More lines creased Mac's face, "Did he touch anything else? Anything else contaminated? That's the last thing we need."

"You're telling me. Frankly, Mac, I don't know. I don't think so, but…" He shrugged.

There was nothing else to say. Mac set to work as painstakingly as possible, silently cursing college students who should know better, all the drivers who had held him up on the way, and whoever was responsible for damaging Stella's car. Something about that was unsettling. Something was nagging at him that this was not a random act. But if she was not willing to talk about it or accept any help at present, he knew there was very little he could do.

Stella paused for moments as she worked. She looked into the face of the woman and saw something which disturbed her.

Hawkes looked at her face and saw the shadows under her eyes, "What is it, Stella?"

"Look at her face, her eyes." She said, "And her hands. See?"

He looked, but didn't see what she saw, "What do you mean?"

She lifted up the dead woman's hand to show him, "She didn't put up a fight, Hawkes. Look. Only puncture wounds from the thorns, no tearing, she didn't struggle against them. Her eyes too, they're closed. Like she just waited for death." There was sadness in her voice, "She didn't fight back."

"Not everyone is strong enough to." Hawkes said softly.

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After they finished at the scene, Stella rode back with Hawkes to the lab, partly wanting to avoid any conversation with Mac about her car. It had upset her more than she had admitted. It was not just the inconvenience of the damage, but the maliciousness of the act against something of hers. She was not a materialistic person, and a car was simply a car, a means of getting around. But the fact remained that it was hers. Someone had deliberately targeted it and that bothered her. It had been an unpleasant shock to enter the parking lot and find it; and find that there was no damage to any of the other vehicles, and for a few minutes she had stood there staring, feeling tears prick her eyes. Then her profession had taken over and she had reported it and done everything that needed to be done. That was it. There were other things that were more important at present.

**ccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccc**

Danny was struggling with a headache. True to his word, he had gone back over the clothes of both women in the serial case, and had examined almost every fibre they were composed of. There wasn't much more to find. But he kept going. Lifting his glasses and pinching hard the bridge of his nose, he opened the fume hood to place a skirt inside. A movement outside the door caught the corner of his vision. Flack was gliding past along the corridor. Danny froze. Flack glanced through the window and a strange smile crossed his face as he saw the other man. He pushed his face up against the glass and like a gargoyle mouthed the words, "3 AM."

Before Danny in a rush of bewilderment and frustration could reach the door, he was gone.

**cccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccc**

Mac finally caught up with Stella along the corridor outside his office. She had managed to avoid him for over an hour; whilst Hawkes and he had begun processing the evidence, she had gone down to the morgue.

She did not stop, so he fell into step beside her and opened the conversation, "Sid have anything for us?"

"Nothing more than we already knew. Tox reports aren't back yet, but it looks like the same as the two previous."

"She was drugged beforehand too?"

"Right. Sid found a needle mark on her arm, same as the other two."

Mac took a deep breath before his next question, "What about your car, Stella?"

She stopped. "I told you, I'm handling it, Mac. I don't need any help. I can manage this on my own."

He found he was angry with her, "I know you can, but I'm offering anyway. As a friend."

She looked strangely at him, "Sometimes as a friend you have to accept your help being refused. I'm sorry, but we've got more important things to think about."

She started to walk away, and he prevented her with a hand on her arm, "Your safety is more important."

Stella didn't know how to answer him, but was saved from having to by Adam appearing round the corner.

He hesitated, looking from one to the other, picking up on an awkward silence, "Er, I found out a little more about that wire in your cases. If you're interested?"

"What have you got?" Stella pounced on the information.

"Well, remember I said it was used for soldering? I did a little more investigating and narrowed it down to a very specific compound of solder. It's not cheap, and only a few specialist stores sell it. The good news is, there's only one in Manhattan." He held out a printout, "Here's the address."

Stella snatched it from him, "'Hal's 24 Hour Model Emporium'. Well, isn't that convenient? 24 hour opening, and only three blocks away from us. I'll go talk to them, see if they can remember who they sold this stuff to."

"I'd be glad to come with you, Stella." Adam said hopefully, "I need a new tube of rubber cement for my…" His voice died away under the force of her stare, "Or maybe I'll just head back to the lab and keep working."

"Good idea."

"I'm gone." He backed away and then almost ran back to his hideout.

Stella turned to Mac, a forced lightness in her voice "And don't think I'll be picking any modelling supplies up for you either. I'll be back shortly, hopefully with some useful information."

"I'll come with you."

"No need, it's not far, and everyone else is busy, you can be getting on with what we've got."

She threw her last words over her shoulder to him as she walked away, heels striking the floor. Mac watched her out of sight, fighting with himself over whether to call her back. He didn't. He returned to his office and picked up the case files to review again the information they had.

Stella stepped out into the night that was never dark, seeing but not seeing. Infuriated with Mac, but at the same time touched by his concern, misplaced as it was. The infuriation came from the times she had tried the same with him; he could never see when it was time to think about himself. She walked on and was drawn into the crowd.

The words in the file ran together in front of his eyes. He pictured Stella walking out of the door and onto the street. Alone. He felt his heart beat and grabbed his phone. She wouldn't have got far. Mac began to dial her number, and then stopped. Was he over-reacting? His fingers paused on his cell.

The yellow cabs, dulled to gold in the night, blasted their usual cacophony along the street. The wind blew a tumult of litter down the sidewalk. Stella walked on, hearing only her own thoughts.

There was a shadow in his mind. Something didn't feel right. Mac tapped his phone against the case file. He made his decision. His office was silent, and he heard her number ring. It kept on ringing.

Between the buildings, the wind cried. Music jangled from inside a bodega. Finally, Stella heard her phone over the sounds of the city. She stopped by the entrance to a side alley, moving out of the human traffic to answer it.

He was about to ring off when she answered. He wasted no time, "Stella, it's Mac. How far have you got?"

There was a pause, "About half a block away. Why do you want to know?"

"Wait for me." He hung up before she could argue, and was on his way out of the building.

Stella sighed in some exasperation, realising she had no choice but to stop for him now. It was cold, the wind chilled the air even more. She thrust her hands into her coat pockets and waited.

Mac strode through the crowd, his eyes searching for Stella. Uneasiness was making his heart thud in his chest. He couldn't see her. Usually he could always find her in a crowd. He moved to the edge of the sidewalk, dodging round trash cans and fire hydrants. Then he saw her, a street over from him, lit by the string of neon lights strung across a window. His heart slowed a little in relief.

Glancing round idly, noting the faces in passing, Stella didn't see Mac until he was only a hundred yards or so away. She half raised her hand to acknowledge him, and saw him smile in return. He stopped at the side of the road to cross to her. A woman with a stroller was coming towards her, so Stella stepped back out of her way, further into the dark gap between the buildings. Something rustled behind her.

The traffic was busy, and Mac was impatient. It was taking longer than usual for the 'walk' light to show. A truck rumbled past, momentarily blocking his view of the other side of the street. The crowd pressed around him, and someone jostled him.

A cat jumped out of a dumpster, and streaked away down the alley. Stella smiled to herself for startling at it, before moving back out into the crowd. The beep of the crossing cut out and she looked for Mac in the faces coming towards her. He was not among them. Surprised, she looked around and walked towards the intersection. There was no sign of him. Traffic flowed across, people streamed past, alarm rose in her. She couldn't see him. Which didn't make sense. He had been across the street two minutes ago, where was he? Something wasn't right.

Not caring less what people might think, she called out, "Mac!" Heads turned, not his though. No answer.

Again, louder. "Mac!" Other voices, not his.

Ice crept up her spine. A street full of people, and not the one person she wanted to see. How could he vanish on a street full of people?

She was shouting now, frantic, "Mac! Where are you? Mac!"

No one answered her.

**Hopefully that confounded your predictions! Let me know what you thought please, all comments welcome. Next chapter up soon.**


	9. Chapter 9

-1**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY. Wish I did though.**

**Notes**** Here's the next chapter fuelled by even more chocolate… Thank you for all the brilliant reviews for chapter 8, I was really pleased! I still love to know what you think, and appreciate you taking the time to do so. Please continue, or start here! **

**Chapter 9: Vanishing point**

Thorns: Chapter 9

Mac's office was empty. As she approached, trace reports in her hand to deliver to him, Lindsay could hear that wherever he had gone, his phone hadn't. There was no sign of him anywhere near, so she cautiously pushed open the door and entered, advanced to the desk and looked at the caller display. It was Stella. Lindsay picked it up and hesitated for a moment, feeling somehow that she was grossly intruding by even being in Mac's office without him there.

But with a quick glance around and some trepidation, she answered it, "Stella, is that you?"

"Lindsay, where are you and why are you answering Mac's phone?" There was a note of something in her tone that made Lindsay clench her hand round the phone in sudden fear, "I'm in his office, Stell." Hastily, as she felt she needed to explain, she added, "I had some reports for him, I heard the phone ringing and came in, when I saw it was you, I answered. Is everything all right?"

"No it isn't. Something's wrong, I can't find Mac. I was waiting for him, he called me and told me to wait for him so I did, he was over the street from me waiting to cross, I looked away for a minute and he was gone. He just vanished Lindsay, he was right in front of me…"

Her voice was rising, and Lindsay stopped her, "Where are you?"

"On the corner of 51st…"

"Stay there. Call Flack, Danny and I will be right there. Okay?"

There was a pause and then Stella answered quietly defeated, "Okay."

Lindsay put the phone down with trembling fingers, hardly believing what she had just been told. She wanted to laugh wildly: Mac _disappear_? No. Not possible. But she realised then that she had heard something in Stella's voice that she had never heard before. Fear. With her heart thumping in her chest, she fled to find Danny. Something had gone very wrong.

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Danny was still unsettled from his earlier encounter with Flack, and he jumped visibly as Lindsay shoved her way through the doors of the lab, almost dropping the phial he was holding, "Jesus, Linds, who's after you?"

She didn't notice. "Danny! Something's happened."

"Yeah, I almost dropped this when you came busting in here, that would've been something…" The look on her face stopped him short, "What's happened?"

"Mac's disappeared."

For a second he wanted to laugh, ridicule her, and join in the joke with her, and then he realised horribly that she was serious. "You kidding me? Mac? And you know this how?"

"I wish I was. Stella rang Mac's phone, it was in his office, and I, er, answered it. Never mind why now." Danny closed his mouth and she continued, "We're wasting time, Danny. Stella's waiting for us at the - at the scene. You're coming with me, I'll fill you in on the way, come on."

He blinked in astonishment, still processing what she was saying. Then he pushed his glasses up, carefully placed the phial in a rack and pulled off his lab coat, "Let's go."

The door swung on its hinges behind them.

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Flack was pulling up in a squad car, accompanied by two uniforms as Danny and Lindsay came in sight of the scene. They saw him jump out of the car and direct the two men towards the restless crowd gathered around Stella. The night air was cold and caught in their lungs as they ran up to her, pushing their way through clusters of people.

Lindsay got to her first, reached out and grabbed for her hand, asking gently, "What happened, Stell?"

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What had happened? She was no longer sure. Stella barely noticed the passing of the hours as she told people over and over again what she thought had happened. Flack had brought in the handful of witnesses who were prepared to talk and they told him what they thought had happened. Only one person had anything useful to tell them; a young man with a crop of yellow curls who had seen Mac at the side of the road, and had seen who stood next to him. She remembered his description:

"Yeah, he was tall, taller than you." The witness had nodded at Flack, "And big, I mean _real_ big. Guy must have been close to 200 pounds."

"Anything else you can remember?" Flack had encouraged him.

"Not really. He had grey hair, old, y'know? I only saw him for a second, but I remembered him because he kind of bumped into your guy and then walked off down the street, I think with him. That's about it." He looked worried then, "You guys aren't going to arrest me are you?"

Flack sighed, "No. We ain't going to arrest you, Carlo. In fact, I'm going to give you my card, so if you remember anything else, you can call me. Got it?"

"Sure, no problem. Can I go now?"

They had let him go. There was nothing else. At the scene there was no trace that Mac had even been there, no CCTV, no evidence, only the memories of those who had seen him. His disappearance was complete.

And now, hours later, they all sat round a table, all words exhausted. Stella knew they were looking to her for what to do next, but the truth she was desperately trying to conceal was that she didn't know. If she could, she would have got up, walked out of the building and just kept on walking, until she found him. But she stayed where she was, and faced their eyes.

They were all sitting looking at her now: Hawkes, Danny, Lindsay, Flack, even Sid and Adam. All eyes on her and she didn't know what to say. Worst of all was the pity she saw in them. They felt sorry for her which meant they knew it was her fault. Her fault for being impatient, for being annoyed with Mac, and for being stubborn and walking out alone. She despised herself for it.

Lindsay, with a glance at Danny, stretched out her hand across the table towards her, but stopped halfway, and pulled back involuntarily when she met her eyes. There was no sound in the room.

When Lindsay spoke it was like glass shattering, "Are you all right Stella?"

Fury coursed through her. Did she look all right? Did Lindsay really need to ask? No. She wasn't all right. She was so far from being all right it wasn't even funny. But all she said in a dead voice was, "Yes."

No one believed her.

It was Hawkes, accompanied by Sid who followed her out of the room later.

He came jogging after her, "Hey, wait up, Stella."

She swung round to him, her face rigid, "What?"

"We need to talk to you."

With them either side of her, she found herself being gently but firmly escorted along to her office. Sid closed the door behind them, and Stella looked from one to the other, daring them to challenge her.

Hawkes took her on, "We're worried about you."

She gave a death like smile, "No need to be."

A look passed between the two men, and Hawkes tried again, "Just hear me out, okay? You need to go home, get something to eat and get some sleep. Like I told you yesterday, you're not going to function like this."

She laughed humourlessly, for a second too long. It was only yesterday he had said that to them? What else had he said? Oh yes, "I suppose you're gonna say 'I told you so' next?"

"No I'm not." He said quietly.

And Stella had to turn away from him as she felt tears stinging her eyes.

"Please, Stella. Take a couple of hours and go home, we can take care of things. And as I said to you yesterday, I'll call you soon as we find anything."

She almost gave in then at the kindness in his words, almost. She brushed her hand across her eyes and managed a feeble smile, "Thanks. But I can't, I just can't. I appreciate your concern, really I do, but going home is the last thing I want to do right now. Mac's missing and until we find him and know he's safe, I can't do anything else. What will help me is if all of you go get some rest for a couple of hours. I need to know you're all okay."

"We're going nowhere. If you stay, we stay." Sid spoke up.

But Stella shook her head, adamant. "No. It's after 9pm, you've all been here since 7am. I don't want to have to pull rank on this, but I want you all to go home for at least four hours, come back refreshed. Just do this for me, okay?"

Sid caught Hawkes' eye and nodded imperceptibly, "We thought you might say something like that. So here's the deal: I have plenty to do downstairs so I'm staying. The others will go home for a few hours, when they return, I'll go home. And so will you. Take it or leave it."

They both stood with their arms folded, and Stella knew she was beaten. And she was too tired now to argue with them. She sighed wearily, "Okay. For now you win. But if we've still not found anything or heard from Mac by then, you won't get me out of this building."

They both knew she was deadly serious so with that they had to be satisfied.

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The company of the dead waited in the silence of eternity. Sid stood amongst them, guardian of those who were so still and quiet and looked down on Sophie Gonzalez, the most recent soul to arrive at his sanctuary.

"I'm sorry we didn't find you in time, Miss Gonzalez," he told her. "But we will find who did this to you and the others. Trust us on that."

Of course she made no answer, he expected none. But sometimes, when he worked alone, the night wrapped around him and he imagined conversations with the silent ones. They always spoke to him in their own ways; each person that came to him told him something. But tonight there was nothing more to say. Sophie could tell him nothing else, and so he closed her away to sleep, to dream maybe. There was someone living he was also guardian of tonight. The thought of her caught at his conscience because he had not thought of her whilst he talked with Sophie.

As they had agreed, everyone else was gone from the building, leaving only himself and Stella as far as he knew. Sid checked his watch and frowned, disappointed with himself for letting the hours tick past unnoticed. It was long past midnight; he had been down in the deeps of the building under the pale lights for almost three hours. He quickened his pace to the elevator, and then stood drumming his fingers impatiently while it crept upwards.

"Should have taken the stairs," He growled to himself. "Damn elevators, need to talk to Mac about them…" Except of course he couldn't. The doors stuck, and he shoved them open muttering furiously under his breath. The lights along the corridor were dim, and his footsteps as he half-walked, half-ran towards Mac's office where he guessed Stella would be, were brutally loud in the hush. The lights in the office were bright, shining out towards him.

He called before he reached the door, "Stella? Are you there?"

No voice broke the hush, and he was running now, "Stella!"

He couldn't see her through the glass; the chair by the desk was empty, but he could see something by the side of the desk. Someone lying by the side of the desk.

He slammed through the door and groaned despairingly, dropping to his knees beside her, "Oh no, Stella!"

He had failed in his duty.

**Couldn't resist a cliff-hanger! Please review and tell me what you think, all thoughts welcome. Next chapter up soon, promise.**


	10. Chapter 10

-1**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY. Wish I did though.**

**Notes**** Thank you for all the reviews for the last chapter, they made me very happy! I still love to know what you think, and appreciate you taking the time to do so. Please continue, or start here! **

**Chapter 10: Into the night**

Thorns: Chapter 10

Danny nudged Lindsay as they walked across the parking lot, "Tell me your thoughts, Montana."

"Same as yours."

He sighed loudly, "Where the hell is Mac? How're we gonna get out of this one? And how long can Stella keep going?"

"You're a mind reader." She stopped abruptly, "Danny, we can't just go home and do nothing…"

"If we go back inside, Stella will do some very bad things to us, maybe even kill us. And leave no evidence."

Lindsay smiled in spite of herself, "Okay, so that's not an option. C'mon Danny, there must be something else."

He grinned, "Trust me to always find the other options, Montana. Check these out." With a flourish, he pulled a handful of files from his bag. "Impressed with me? What say we grab some pizza and do a little reading and investigating."

"Sounds good to me." She tucked her arm through his.

"Wanna ride shotgun?"

He pulled his keys out, then stopped so suddenly, Lindsay bumped into him. "What?"

Grabbing her arm, he pulled her down against the side of his car, "Flack!"

In total astonishment at Danny's behaviour, Lindsay watched the tall detective, who didn't appear to have seen them, crossing the lot towards his own vehicle a hundred yards ahead of them.

"And? What is wrong with you? Why are we hiding from _Flack_?"

Danny's face was pale, "Trust me, you don't wanna know."

"Oh I do."

Flack drove off and Danny pulled her to her feet before he spoke again, "You _really_ don't."

Lindsay gave him a look of mingled bafflement and exasperation, "Fine. I'm not even going to ask now, but at some point in the very near future, you're gonna have to give me a seriously good explanation for this, okay?" She climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door.

Danny rubbed his hand across his face and exhaled loudly before going to open the driver side door. It was then that he saw the little square of paper trapped underneath the wiper blade. He yanked it free. Written in black pen was the legend '3AM'. Cursing the man, he crushed the paper in his hand, imagining Flack's anatomy as he did so, and got into the car.

"What was that?" Lindsay raised her eyebrows.

"Nothin'. Trash."

Before he managed to screech away with more force than necessary, he stalled the engine twice and only just restrained himself from punching the steering wheel. Lindsay's silence was eloquent. Only one thought was in his mind as he drove; Donald Flack had better watch his back. Oh yes. He was going to pay dearly for this.

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Shades of darkness ghosted through his mind. Drifting, drifting, until they consolidated into a single mass. Darkness. It was all he could see. He became aware of his heart beating. Slow beats. Each one reassuring him he was still alive. Beat by beat, consciousness came back to him. But he could still see nothing. His eyes were wide open now. He blinked and felt something against his eyes, felt the brush of material against his eyelashes. He wasn't blind. Blindfolded though, as good as. One sense was dimmed, so he needed his others even more.

At first, there was nothing to hear, only his pulse throbbing and the soft rustle as he breathed. Short breaths, in and out. He was still alive. No sound of traffic, no sound of anyone else nearby. Nothing.

His face was pressed against a wooden floor, and he could smell the sharp scent of pine boards and dust in the grains. Water also, the smell of damp that had been there a long time soaking into plaster and wood. The air smelled of slow decay.

Water. His mouth felt filled with sand, and his lips were desert-dry. He ran his tongue across them and felt cracked skin and the faint taste of iron.

More sensations gradually returned to him. There was a cruel ache in his wrists and hands, his fingers he could hardly feel. They were cold, numb. His wrists he realised were pressed together and something cold was wrapped tightly round them. Cold and smooth. Metal. Wire.

His skin crawled with apprehension. Memory floated through his mind, and he grabbed hold before it drifted away. Stella. He had been trying to reach her. He nearly had, but someone had stopped him.

Someone. Mac struggled to seize hold of what had happened, and succeeded. The crossing: he had been standing there when someone had bumped into him. But it was not by accident. He had recognised immediately the pressure of an automatic in his lower back. And felt immediately a sinking dismay. He had been caught at a complete disadvantage.

A voice spoke silkily in his ear, "Say or do anything and I pull the trigger. You will be killed and I will then turn the gun on everyone else around us. Including the woman waiting for you on the other side of the street." He had stood perfectly still. There was nothing else he could do. The voice continued, "Good. You understand. Now walk quickly away to your left until I tell you to stop."

There was no other choice. Not on a crowded street. He couldn't risk their lives, and he couldn't risk Stella's. Mac kept walking and heard the heavy tread of his captor behind him. The man walked him along the sidewalk, not for an instant relaxing the force of the gun against his spine. In the distance he heard Stella calling him, and heard the urgency in her voice. He was powerless. They stopped at the entrance to an alleyway, filled with the stench of an overflowing dumpster. Mac tensed, ready for the moment to turn on him, safer now they were away from the crowd. But he was given no chance. Something struck him hard in the neck and darkness seized him.

Mac closed his eyes in bitterness at the memory. It hurt him that he had been rendered so helpless. And then horror jerked his eyes wide against the constriction of the blindfold: he had no idea where he was; he had no idea how long he had been there; he had no idea what had happened in that missing time. There was nothing to have stopped the man, after he had disabled Mac, from carrying out his threat and shooting everyone on the street. Including Stella. His throat tightened and he felt as if the breath were being squeezed from his body.

_She could be dead. I couldn't keep her safe. She could be dead…_

That hurt him more than he could bear. He had to get out.

But someone was coming. Mac felt the vibration against his face of slow footfalls, coming closer. He tensed into absolute stillness. Waiting. A door to the side of him popped open, the hinges stiff. Someone padded across the floorboards and stopped beside him. There was the wheeze of breath being drawn heavily, the groan of worn joints and muscles and he was aware of a face close to his. And something else. Something like frail skin pressed against his. In his nostrils the sweet and terrible scent of roses.

The man spoke, "Detective Bonasera is an enchanting woman, isn't she?"

**Little bit shorter this one, but hope you liked the ending! More up soon. Please do let me know what you think, all reviews most welcome.**


	11. Chapter 11

-1**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY. Wish I did though.**

**Notes**** Thank you very, very much for all your wonderful reviews, they made me SO happy : D I still love to know what you think, and appreciate you taking the time to do so. Please continue, or start here, and I'll be even more happy! I hope this chapter can live up to expectations…**

**Chapter 11: Connections**

Thorns: Chapter 11

Stella had been sitting in the chair across from Mac's, attempting to look at the reports and evidence in front of her, but staring instead at his chair and the person who was not sitting in it. She missed him. Along with all the other emotions that were assaulting her was that one, underlying them all. She missed him. Her hands covered her face .

The light in the room was becoming too bright; it was hurting her eyes and flickering at the edge of her vision when she tried again to look at the papers in front of her. But they were painfully white, white hot, and she had to look away.

Her head felt heavy and something seemed to be buzzing inside it. Rubbing her forehead in a futile attempt to ease the pounding ache, she reached for the glass of water on her desk and found that her fingers would not cooperate. They were tingling and stiff, and she lifted her hands up and stared at them in fear. Her breath came sharply. She pushed her chair back, feeling her chest tighten. Something was wrong. When she tried to stand, her legs flatly refused. Black light exploded in front of her eyes and the floor lurched up to meet her.

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Danny grabbed for the last slice of pizza just as Lindsay's hand went to do the same, "Sorry, Montana, growing man sitting here, my need is greater than yours."

"Growing man, huh? Yeah, I can see the parts of you that are growing, Messer." Her eyes wandered to his stomach, and he tugged down his shirt, offended, "Okay, fine. You have it."

"Don't want it now."

"Cool." With a grin, he bolted it down in front of her open-mouthed stare.

"You are unbelievable."

"I know." He sighed, blissfully engorged, "Man, that was good. You up for dessert?"

"No, Danny!" She was serious now, "We need to get on with this, we haven't got very far with these files."

In a second he was back to business. The light-hearted moment was over too soon, and the smile passed from his face, "You're right, Linds. Let's go through the evidence we got. One more time, see if we've missed anything."

"It's worth a try." She sighed, and pushed the plates out of the way to spread the over-familiar reports and print outs around them again. They were soon surrounded.

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Flack, meanwhile, was undertaking his own mission outside Stella's knowledge. After speeding away from the parking lot, he too had stopped for take-away. Whilst he sat devouring spring rolls and savouring the warm, voluptuous cooking smells, he read through the contents of a newly created file. The card covers were still uncreased, the pages crisp at the corners. Flack was careful not to leave greasy fingerprints on any of it. He knew the implications.

At the front of the file was the print-out Stella had taken from Adam, showing the address she had set out to and never reached.

"Model Emporium, huh?" Flack muttered, "Guess I could locate my inner enthusiast and head along to talk to Hal."

It was not far from where he was, but he chose to drive; the idea of walking along the streets, as familiar as they were to him, did not appeal tonight. Exercise would have to wait. Safety first. Ten minutes later he jangled the bell of Hal's 24 hour Emporium.

"Anyone here? Hello?"

The store was vast and dimly lit, stretching back into dusky recesses. Flack wrinkled his nose at the brew of chemical smells that assailed him. Some he could identify: Methylated spirits; enamel; solvents. Others he could only guess at.

"Hello? Potential customer waiting." Still no sign of anyone. Which surprised Flack, who had confidence in the idea that model-makers were nocturnal creatures.

The plastic floor squeaked under his shoes, disfigured by odd stains in many places. A light sheen of dust clung round the bases of the shelving units.

"Don't think much to your cleaner." He thought out loud.

"Nor do I, but I can only afford to pay myself." A voice answered him from the nearby gloom.

"Jesus!" Flack almost hit the ground in shock, "Do not do that to an officer of the law. Whoever you are."

"Apologies." A figure stepped out in front of him

"I'm guessing you ain't Hal?" Flack's eyebrows raised sardonically, and the woman who had startled him gave him a 'Never heard that before, I don't think' grimace.

"Yes and no. Actually, make that a yes. I own this place if that's what you mean. It used to belong to my pop, the original Hal, short for Henry. I'm Hal, short for Harriet. Who are you?"

"Detective Flack, short for New York Police Department. I need to ask a few questions."

"Go right ahead." After scrutinising his badge, she stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans, and stared at him.

"First up, do you keep a record of your customers?" Flack was unfazed.

"Sure, as a rule. Why do you need to know?"

"Evidence in a murder investigation. I'm looking particularly for the names of customers who've bought this." He passed her a sample of the solder compound, "Recognise it?"

"I do. Not one of our best-sellers, it costs a _lot._"

"So you'd remember who bought it?"

"Certainly, only one of our regulars buys it. But I'm not sure I can…"

"Give me his name and address? Sure you can. I'm a detective, that's what I'm here for. And I have to tell you, that a warrant is not a problem, however, I'd rather not do that."

She sighed, "Fine. I'll get his details. Wait here." Without turning around, as she became an outline beyond the light, she called back, "And don't touch anything."

Flack pulled his finger back from the attractively shiny tins of enamel, "Wouldn't dream of it."

It only took her a few minutes, "Here you go, detective. Name and address. Be nice, he's one of my favourite customers. Anything else?"

"No, I'm sure I've taken plenty of your time, Hal."

Giving him a final, piercing look, she disappeared back to wherever she had come from and only then did Flack look at the information she had given him.

It wasn't often that a few words typed on a piece of paper could cause him so much horror. He felt the blood empty from his face, "Oh, shit…"

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She was lying frighteningly still on the floor, and Sid felt his heart freeze.

"Stella! Can you hear me, Stella?"

He shook her shoulder, called her name, and was more relieved than he could admit when her eyes finally flickered open. "Oh thank God!"

"Wh - what happened?" He could hardly hear her.

Sid kept his hand steadfastly in place as she lifted her head, "It's okay, just hold still a minute, you're okay." He was telling himself that more than anything.

"Sid? What're you doing here?"

"Trying to look after you. I think you fainted."

"I never faint!" She tried to sit up indignantly, but fell back against Sid's arm which had moved round her shoulders.

"Of course you don't."

"Glad we agree."

Sid watched her anxiously; her eyes were still not wholly focussed and her face and lips were stone-white. "Just stay still for a moment - unless you want to _not_ faint again?"

She gave him an imitation of a smile, "No."

"Good. Here," He helped her lean up against the solid legs of the desk, then reached for the glass of water. "Sip it slowly."

Her hand shook holding the glass, "Thanks."

"You gave me quite a shock then, I - I thought something else had happened."

"I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's not your fault." His head drooped, "I should apologise to _you_. I'd meant to come and see how you were doing hours ago, and the time ran away with me down there. When I saw you lying there, I thought… I don't know what I thought."

She laid a hand on his arm, "Sid, it's okay. I'm fine. I guess I did just pass out. The light was too bright in here, I was tired, that's all." Her expression dared him to argue.

"I think you should go home, Stella." Before the words were out of his mouth, he knew how she would respond.

"Absolutely not. I told you, if we haven't heard any more, you don't get me out of the building."

A part of him wanted to march her out of the room, out of the building and home himself. Then at least he could be reassured.

A note of desperation pitched his next words, "Then at least lie down here for half an hour, please. If not for yourself, then for my peace of mind."

"No." Pale colour was creeping back into her skin and the tremor in her fingers was less, but her eyes were dim. "You don't understand, Sid. You - you can't." She put the glass down and let her hand drop to the floor, "If I hadn't gone on my own earlier, Mac wouldn't have come out after me. If I'd been just a little less, stubborn, this need never have happened and knowing that is making me feel guilty as hell. Sitting there, trying to read those damn pieces of paper, I couldn't even manage that, what kind of partner am I? And the worst thing is, I feel like I can't do anything to help him, do you know how that feels? I don't know what to do! I'm here, and I have no idea where he is, or even - even if he's still alive. I can't deal with that." Tears ran down her face unheeded, "I can't deal with it…"

"It's okay, Stella, it's okay." He pulled her towards him and she sank into his kindness, holding on with the very little she had left. "We'll find him soon, I promise you."

When Flack arrived shortly after 2am, Stella, with eyes red and aching even as she slept the sleep of exhaustion, was lying on the small leather couch. Sid was sitting on the floor against it, his knees up against his chest, reading her reports: he had promised and he would not fail her.

But Flack knew nothing of this, he knew only that what he had to tell Stella was going to devastate her.

**I hope this was okay, do let me know what you think! Chapter 12 up soon, as well as the next chapter of my new story.**


	12. Chapter 12

-1**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY. Wish I did though.**

**Notes**** Thank you very, very much for all the wonderful reviews that have continued to come in, they made me incredibly happy : D I still love to know what you think, and appreciate you taking the time to do so. Please continue, or start here, and I'll be even more happy! Thanks also to everyone who has the story on alert too.**

**Chapter 12: The unknown**

Thorns: Chapter 12

"Sid, I'm real sorry, but I gotta do this." Flack ran his hand through his hair, after taking in the unexpected scene in front of him. "There's something Stella needs to know. She ain't gonna want to know, but she has to, so…"

Sid pulled himself to his feet and, a little unsteadily, stretched out the stiffness in his knees. It had been a long time since he had sat on a floor, and even though he would not have admitted it, his joints had suffered. So his response to the other man was more brusque than he intended.

"You're talking in riddles, detective. What have you got to tell Stella? Could it wait? You may not have noticed either, but she's asleep."

"No, she's not." A weary voice contradicted him. Sid sighed, and Flack blanched.

"Stella…"

"What's on the piece of paper you're trying to hide, Flack?" She sat up and held out her hand.

He winced: the woman was too sharp for her own good. And kept hold of the paper, even as he knew that he could only put this off for so long.

"I did a little more, y'know, _investigatin' _and, without you asking me too many hard questions, I have a name and address for our serial suspect."

"That's great." Sid threw in, "Isn't it?"

Stella narrowed her eyes, "Show me. Or tell me."

"Stella, before I do that…" Flack held on desperately to the paper. It was quaking in his fingers, "Please, just don't… don't over-react."

"If you don't tell me, or give me that piece of paper in the next five seconds, so help me, Flack, I'll kill you."

She stood, holding the edge of the desk in a death-grip. Despite looking more fragile than he had seen her in a long time, Flack had no doubt of her ability to carry out the threat. The sub-audio thrum of the air-conditioning was suddenly very apparent. Without another word, he gave in and passed her the piece of paper, feeling his whole body knot in apprehension.

Stella unfolded the paper, which had a faint smell of solvents sticking to it, and read what was written. Then read it again. Her face had less colour than the sheet which zig-zag whispered to the floor.

"Oh god…" She was bent over, both hands clutching the desk.

"Stella…"

"Oh god, we had him here! He was right here… And I let him go. What have I done?" Her cry pierced him, and Flack felt a rush of heat to his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Stella! I should have asked him more questions or noticed more, I didn't think for a moment…" He crossed the space to her in a second, "Please, Stella, it's not your fault."

"Yes it is!" The horror in her voice was like stone striking stone, "I didn't look closely enough, _I let him go._ I let him go and he killed again."

"No! _We_ let him go, you weren't the only person in that room with him. None of us realised." He took a risk with his next words, "Not even Mac. He got past _all_ of us. We weren't even questioning him about this case."

She was carved in marble. Ice-grey marble, with eyes that had petrified into onyx. Flack's hands hovered at his side, afraid to touch her, "Look at me, Stella. Please, look at me." She turned her head fractionally, and the agony in her eyes hurt him, but he continued relentlessly "Good, now listen to me: you couldn't have saved the third victim, think about the timings, she was already dead at the time he was in here. _It wasn't your fault. _You have to believe that. If, and I mean _if_, we made a mistake, then we have the chance now to fix it. We've got him now."

She took a shuddering breath in, and still didn't speak. Sid touched her shoulder gently and took some of the cold from her, "Feeling guilty isn't going to help anyone, you or Mac. You can hate me for saying that, but it's true."

"Sid's right." Flack said tiredly, "We've got something we can do. In less than a few minutes, I'm going to be out of here, bringing the guy in. I've got a uniform and a car on standby."

With another breath, Stella dragged herself back from the abyss that was gaping in front of her, and forced herself to look at Flack, "Then I'm coming with you. Now." The realisation of something suddenly smashed into her. Her eyes widened, in hope, and dread, "He could have Mac. This guy could have Mac. I _have_ to come with you. If he has him…"

She didn't like what she saw flash into his eyes.

He looked away, even as he wanted what she was saying to be true, and said quietly, "If. Even if it is, it ain't gonna happen, Stell. I don't think you should come."

"Don't mess with me, Flack. This is all we've got." She felt her blood beginning to circulate again.

"This ain't messing, this is trying to help you."

She gave a short, cynical laugh. Felt her pulse rise again. "Right. Help me. Yeah, stopping me from coming to arrest this guy is _really_ gonna help me."

He crossed his arms over his chest defensively, "You're not in any kind of state to be making an arrest. Simple as that."

"You think, huh? I'll be in a worse state if I don't come with you. Simple as _that_. I suggest we leave right now, Flack, we're wasting time. Mac's time."

This was not his night for persuasion, realising that, he gave in ungraciously, holding his hands out in front of him, "Okay. Fine. If that's how you want it, we'll do it your way. We'll call more back-up on the way if we need it. Get your coat on and we're outta here."

She was already walking away, but stopped, one hand on the glass door panel, "Sid, I need you to do something for me. Let Danny, Lindsay and Hawkes know what's happening, they'll probably be here soon, but if they're not in the next ten minutes, call them, please." Flack followed her out of the door.

They were out of sight before Sid could answer and tell her that, yes, he would do that, and anything else that she asked him to, and add it to all that he already had done. For which there would never be any charge.

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Mac lay still. As still as death in hot sands. His heart hollow and disintegrating as the man's words poisoned him.

More blackest venom poured into his ears, "Yes, enchanting. But I think you know that already, don't you? I've seen you every time you've found one of my ladies: Lori, Jennifer, Sophie. I was there. You didn't see me though, and you didn't see me yesterday when you walked her back to her apartment. I watched how you walked together."

"If… you've…" Mac didn't recognise his own voice. It grated from his throat, caught in his arid mouth.

"You're a little too late for ifs, detective. You led me to her apartment yourself, and I nearly got her there. But it wasn't to be there even though I waited for her in the garage after doing a small amount of damage to her car. It wasn't the right time and I let her go."

Mac closed his eyes, and felt fire in his sockets. Felt his heart beat like lightning beneath his skin, beneath his eyelids. He could smell the iron blood on his lips, and the sharp odour of sweat from the man too close to him. Who had been too close to Stella.

She could be dead. He could have killed her. If she was dead…

Helpless. Helpless, trapped, useless. It had never been like this.

"Where…" Each breath in was like a breath of the desert. Too hot. Blood too cold. He swallowed, and gagged on no saliva, "Where…"

"Where is she? Yes, I know you desperately want to know. The plain truth is though, _Mac_, it won't matter much to you now where she is. I can tell you how she got there though."

The sound, and harsh vibration of a chair, wooden, pulled across the floor screamed in his ears and in his nerves. Wood creaked, the man sat heavily and with a sigh continued, "You missed all the action earlier. They came here, to get me of course, maybe you, if they realised you were here. You wouldn't have heard, you were still unconscious, probably because I hit you hard. I used to be something of a boxer in my youth, though you may not think it to look at me."

Pride, without any irony, came into the voice, and Mac felt an acid burn of recognition. Pride. Pride in his craft. But the memory twisted out of reach to his despair. "Yes, Mac, you missed it. Three of them, knocking on my door, NYPD. Of course, I didn't answer it. It was just a pity they then had to break down my front door, but it was one of those jobs I'd been meaning to do, fit a new one, so it didn't matter too much. Anyway, I'm wandering off onto another path, and I'm sure you want to know what happened next. So here it is. They came bursting in, all guns and shouting. Three of them in total, one I didn't recognise, two I did. Detective Bonasera of course, she stood out to me even in the darkness, and the other man who had questioned me a day ago, the tall detective, his name escapes me though. It wasn't important."

"What… did… you… do?" His blood was freezing nitrogen burning in his veins. The words almost cost him consciousness.

His heart thudded in his chest five times before the man spoke again. Pain. Pain in his lungs, becoming choked with sand.

"What did I do? What do you think I did? I shot them, the detective and the other officer, whoever he was. As smart and as clever as they thought they were, they didn't see me in time, and I fired first. Fatal shots, probably, I didn't wait too long to find out. Their bodies are still upstairs. And if you're wondering, I have a silencer, which has bought me a little more time. I didn't shoot her though, that wouldn't have been fair, and wasn't of course the plan. But I got her, Mac. I gave what was my gift to her and left her in the place I had chosen for her the first time I saw her. With flowers to remember me by. She'll be found, but not quite soon enough."

Pain. The world had shrunk to nothing else. Except one grain, one atom of hope, one word. He seized it as parched earth seizes water, "Lying…"

The man laughed, softly, the sound of sand dunes collapsing around him, "I know you'd like to think so, Mac."

**I don't know what came over me, I'm so sorry, please don't kill me. Someone (who shall remain nameless…) told me that cliff-hangers were a good idea, so I'm just following good advice ; ) Chapter 13 up very soon, promise! As well as the next chapter of Falling Leaves. **


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY. Wish I did though.**

**Notes**** I'd better apologise first off. Cliff-hangers. Actually, more than one person has been advocating them to me, and I can't promise not to use them again… So please don't hurt me! If you do, I won't be able to finish the story ; )**

**Thanks as always for reviews, they're wonderful, I really do love reading them, and value all your comments. Please continue, or start now. Thanks also to everyone who has this on alert, always happy to hear your thoughts.**

**Chapter 13: Lost time**

Thorns: Chapter 13

After Flack and Stella left, Sid took a moment and just sat resting his head on his folded arms. Outside the window, the sky still clung onto night, but there was a suggestion of grey dawn beyond the tops of the sky-scrapers. But he didn't have long to gaze at it over the top of his glasses, before a sound along the corridor made him lift his head.

"Who's there?" He called out, moving as swiftly as he could to the door.

He saw Lindsay, closely followed by Danny marching along the corridor.

She greeted him excitedly, "Hey, Sid! We've got some good news for Stella. "

"You'd better come in and sit down." He sobered both their faces as he ushered them into the room, and felt guilty for doing so, "Don't look so worried."

Lindsay still clutched hold of Danny's arm, "Where is she? Is everything all right?"

"Yes." Sid was pleased to see Lindsay's shoulders relax at that, and decided not to tell her all that happened earlier, "She and Flack have gone to make an arrest."

Danny's face creased at his last words, "An arrest? Who? 'Cause, I gotta tell you, Sid, Lindsay and I have spent the last few hours busting our asses and coming up with some conclusions for her which could lead us somewhere to look for Mac. Please do not be about to tell me she beat us to it…"

Sid looked from one to the other, "What did you find out?"

Another familiar voice stalled Danny, "I'd hate to see Mac's face if he could see all of us invading his office like this. Mind if I join you?"

Their colleague slipped into the room, with a glimmer of amusement lifting the tiredness in his eyes.

Danny waved him in expansively, "Come on in, Hawkes, plenty of room for more. Sid was about spill the beans on something. Weren't ya, Sid?"

"Yes, I was."

"Wait. Where's Stella?" Hawkes regarded Sid suspiciously, "Surely you weren't able to persuade her to go home?"

"No, unfortunately not. Flack came up with the name of a suspect for the serial case…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Stop right there." Danny almost convulsed in his seat, "You tellin' me _Flack_ got the name of a suspect? Flack waltzed in here, gave her a name and they've gone to make an arrest just like that? What evidence did _he_ have?" Sid almost felt sorry for Danny, as he stared round in deflated disbelief, "You've got to be kidding me, right?"

"I believe he took along the sample of solder compound to the model shop where Stella had been going when Mac was abducted. The proprietor recognised it, gave him the details of the only customer who bought it, and he returned here. They took an officer with them and went to make the arrest. You didn't long miss them; Stella did say to call you if you were any longer then ten minutes getting here after they left."

Danny spluttered, "What was _he_ doin' with that piece of evidence? _We_ should have had it." He turned to Lindsay, "I _knew_ there was somethin' we were missing. All those pieces of fibre, those little bits of coal dust, the dirt, the time we spent putting them all together trying to form a picture, and just like that, boom, Flack gets the name. Man, that sucks."

"Yeah, it sucks, but, Danny, in a way that doesn't really matter, does it?" Lindsay spoke up quietly, and looked round at the others for confirmation. They waited for her to continue, "That's how it goes somedays. Somedays it's the simplest answer right in front of you. We missed it, this time, but that's okay, because Flack didn't, and we've got what all of us wanted, we got a suspect, and hopefully, a way to find Mac."

Danny held his breath. So did everyone else. He squinted at Lindsay and then let his breath out with a whoosh, "See, this is why you're so good for me, Montana. Okay, that's good. They're on their way to making an arrest, and they took back-up, that's good too. Now, are we really any closer to finding Mac?"

"It's possible we hit two birds with one stone." Sid answered him, "This guy may also have abducted Mac."

"How does that work? We're missing a couple of hours here, Sid. Fill us in. Who's the suspect?"

Feeling as if he was about to betray Stella, Sid passed Hawkes the paper with the suspect's details on.

Danny tugged it down to look at as well, and his eyes widened, "Him? David Matthews? But that guy…"

"He was the fat guy, Danny. We were talking about them, the fat guy and the plaid shirt for the model murder, remember?"

"I remember. Shit. The guy was here?" It sank in, "Stella must feel…"

"… awful. And guilty, yes. Even though she has no need to."

Lindsay backed up his defence, "No. How could we possibly have known? But that's how she would feel." Her deep brown eyes were warm with sympathy.

Danny stood restlessly. "So what now? I don't feel like we should be waiting around somehow for them to return." He took another long-sighted look at Matthews' address, "Near side of Queens, I guess they'll be there right about now. What should we do? Wait a few minutes, then call them? Wait for them to get back? Talk to me."

"They know what they're doing." Hawkes soothed him.

"I know that." He frowned, "Something's bugging me though, I don't know, just something, call it a feeling."

He stood, flicking the piece of paper, staring out at the city with a lowering look.

Lindsay glanced at Hawkes, who stood with his hands in his pockets frowning slightly at Danny, "What kind of a feeling? Danny?"

He tried to laugh at himself for it, and failed. "Not a good feeling, Montana. A feeling we've missed something important." His finger still flicked the paper in a slow beat, "But I don't know what."

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"I know you'd like to think I'm lying." Mac could only listen as the man's voice continued to smother him. There was nothing else he could do now. There was nothing else left. A fly droned above him in the moist atmosphere. "Truth is, Mac, this _is_ the truth. And you will never know if you could have saved her; whether you'd have made it in time, or if anyone else will. You will never have the chance to find out. You will die wondering."

Nothing mattered anymore, he had already died. He hadn't kept Stella safe, he had failed her, and he had failed Flack. Don Flack, one of the best detectives in the city, one of its true and faithful sons. Both gone. Failed.

The man coughed, there was the sound of material rustling softly. "Before you do though, I'll tell you something else Mac, because I like talking to people, and I don't often get the chance. I talked to Lori, Jennifer and Sophie too. But I enjoyed the conversation Detective Bonasera and I shared at the station particularly. _You_ were out of the room of course, but I expect you were watching. I like watching people too. I'd watched the way Richard looked at Hank at the model club you know, and seen all the hatred he kept hidden from Hank. It was something of a surprise to be brought in myself for questioning over that I can tell you, but I'd guessed she would find him out in the end. And, of course, that little interrogation finally introduced me to her. She's a smart woman, _Stella_, isn't she?"

Every grain of his body revolted at the ravenousness expressed in that single emphasis of her name. Her name. How dare he use her name? Mac opened his mouth to rage at him, to bring him down, to kill him with the words he had left. But he could not. The skin on his lips cracked, his tongue welded to the base of his mouth. He retched and felt bile rise in his stripped-bare throat.

"Dear me, I do talk on don't I?" The man chuckled softly, "You know, you were the only problem, Mac: you were too close to her side. But I fixed that, and I won my prize. A beautiful and enchanting prize." Mac heard the man as, grunting with the effort, he heaved himself up from the chair, and the sound of his tread reverberated. Breath hit the exposed skin of his face. The power to move, to rise up and take from this man what he had taken from the others and from Stella, was gone.

"You know what was most fascinating to see when I put those roses into her hands? Fear, Mac. I saw fear in her eyes. The fear of knowing she was going to die alone. It won't have been any consolation to her to know that the same thing is going to happen to you."

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Sid had disappeared to make coffee for all of them. They sat awkwardly in Mac's office without him there physically. He was very much a presence though; from his carefully arranged books and pictures to the impeccable order of the room, and that presence made his absence the harder to bear.

Danny had still not sat down and the piece of paper remained in his hand. Finally he made a decision, "I think we need to go to this place, something doesn't feel right. I don't want us to have to make another MIA call."

Hawkes checked his watch, "They haven't been there long, Danny. And they've got back-up with them, what else could we do?" He remembered the scene at the Port Authority, when his worries had proved unfounded. But Mac's disappearance was also very much in his mind

"We could start processing the place." Danny challenged him, arms across his chest.

Lindsay stood, "I think we should go. Danny's right, at the very least we can be useful there. I'll go tell Sid where we're going, you guys get the car."

With a swing of his head, Hawkes could make only one reply, "You got it."

Manhattan was in its early dawn character: cabs darted along in the last few hours of freedom before morning rush-hour; the nomads of the island wandered along with their bags and shopping carts, hunched against the cold; and neon signs were beginning to fade into the drab dawn lightening. It was a sight Danny loved, and he sat whilst Lindsay drove, watching each scene play by him.

He was still edgy though, one leg jigging up and down in the foot-well.

"You think we should call them?" He twisted round to Hawkes in the back, who leaned through the seats to answer him.

"No, we're almost there, and if they're struggling to arrest the guy, the last thing they're going to do is want to answer a phone."

"Okay. Just thought I'd ask." He opened and shut the glove compartment, "Can you step on the gas a little, Montana?"

Her foot went down, and the streets and avenues flashed past his eyes.

A squad car and an SUV were outside the white picket fence, grey in the light, which surrounded the one-storey house. They pulled up alongside, and climbed out, closing the doors as quietly as possible. The cold, fresh scent of mist was in the air and a myriad of tiny crystal ball drops hung onto each blade of grass and each rose bush along the front yard path. Danny's kit clanked against Lindsay's as they walked up to the front porch, and they smiled, suddenly nervous, at each other. Hawkes passed ahead of them. Before them, the front door was gaping wide open, broken off its hinges, and he could see no lights on. His glock was in his hand in an instant; he motioned to the other two and in silence they placed their kits on the porch floor and pulled out their own weapons. And in silence they crept into the hallway. There was no sight and no sound of anyone. Danny flipped his torch on, and something moved at the edge of his vision.

He spun round with a yell, "NYPD! Don't move…" He nearly dropped both torch and gun, "Flack!"

Flack loomed out of the darkness, his weapon also held out in front of him, "I swear, if you shoot me Messer, I'll live to make sure you regret it. What the hell are you doing here?"

"What the hell are _you_ doing creeping about in the dark? Ever heard of turning the lights on? Christ, you scared the life out of me then."

"Sorry," He clearly wasn't, "The bulbs are missing, all of them. And, not that I should have to explain myself to you, but when we heard _you_ crashing about, I switched my flashlight off. You could have been anyone. I prefer to have the element of surprise."

"Who else is here?" Hawkes asked, realising that the barbed exchange between Flack and Danny could continue indefinitely.

"I am." A uniformed officer they all vaguely recognised materialised next to Flack.

Danny screwed up his features, "Shouldn't there be more of you? Where's Stella? And where's the perp? Did you find - anything?" He shone the torch into Flack's face which appeared cadaverous. If they'd found Mac, he would have told them, surely?

"Perp's long gone. Stella's downstairs, in the basement. You'd better come down there. I was just about to call you anyway."

"What have you found?" Lindsay demanded, a little more sharply than she meant.

Flack was grim, and would only repeat, "You'd better come down there."

**Don't hunt me down! I'll put the next chapter up in two days, I promise. **

**Maybe not as much action in this chapter, but I hope it was okay. Please let me know what you think**


	14. Chapter 14

-1**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY. Wish I did though.**

**Notes**** I hope the time-frame hasn't confused too much, it should all become clear. Any questions, just ask!**

**Thanks as always for reviews, and suggestions, they're wonderful, I really do love reading them, and value all your comments. Please continue, or start now. Thanks also to everyone who has this on alert, always happy to hear your thoughts. Few hours late posting, sorry.**

**Chapter 14: Break of Dawn**

Thorns: Chapter 14

"What's going on? What's wrong?" Lindsay couldn't keep the alarm out of her voice as he guided them through the house, the light of the torch sliding along the walls, "Flack, you're scaring me, what's happened?"

He would still only answer her with, "You need to come down to the basement."

They descended the stairs in silence, as fast as possible in the erratic torchlight, Flack keeping them to the wall.

"Stella?" Lindsay finally called out, and ducked under Flack's arm to jump down the last few stairs ahead of him after deciding she had waited long enough. She pushed through the only visible door, and found Stella a ghost in the murky silence, and no one else. She stopped, "Oh! I thought… I hoped…"

"You thought Mac was going to be here? Yes, so did I." There was only enough life in Stella's voice left to die, "We got here too late."

"He _was_ here?" Danny flashed his torch around. A mattress on the floor, a wooden chair and a small plastic object in Stella's gloved hand jumped into the view as the beam hit them, "What's that?"

Flack looked even grimmer, "A syringe. Bring your kits down. Mac was here, being held by Matthews, and if what we think and hope to God is not in that syringe, then we're running out of time to find him."

Hawkes took Danny's torch to fetch their kits. Lindsay asked, "Did you find anything else? Any idea how long ago they were here?"

Stella shook her head slowly, hope disappearing in the movement, "We found some pieces of material I recognised from his coat and the shirt he was wearing when he was abducted. There were traces of wire caught in the floorboards as well. Matthews had him trapped, Lindsay. And there's trace fibres up the stairs. He must have dragged him up and down them, there's no other way in or out, there were spots of blood on the steps, a few hairs."

Lindsay could see how much effort it was costing her to tell them this, and she tried to save her a little of it, "We'll get straight on it, something here will tell us where he's taken him. I'll call Adam now, I know he'll want to do what he can, and ask him for any trace on the vehicle, he will have had to have used one. We'll find him. And the syringe, Stella, it could be morphine, he used that on the women first didn't he?"

"He used atropa belladonna on them second though. We've no time to check through tox, we have to assume the worst. And get hold of the pilocarpine antidote."

"Already on it." Hawkes re-appeared at the door, and passed a kit to Danny, "I know where to get hold of it, I'll take one of the cars."

Stella smiled at him gratefully, "Call me when you have it, or if you haven't heard from us already."

"What's the plan then, Stell?" Danny spoke up, as he bagged the syringe. "We've gotta start looking somewhere. There must be someplace important to this guy. Where does he hang out? Where else does he know?"

Her head shot up, "Oh my God! The club! The model club. Why the hell didn't I think of that before now? Danny, that's it!" She looked more alive than she had in nearly two days as she turned to Flack, "Where else? He has to be there, there's no other place he would be. Go get the car, I know where we're heading. We'll call for an ambulance on the way, and backup if we need it when we get there. Danny, you and Lindsay secure the scene and then follow us in the squad car, if you lose us, the place is the TriBeCa model railway club headquarters, got it? I'll grab Hawkes, and tell him where to find us."

Her footsteps were already echoing up the wooden stairs.

Flack was close behind her, "You heard the lady, let's move."

"I'm driving." Flack closed the argument before it had even begun as they ran back down the path through the front yard, now a lustreless silver in the hour after dawn. Hawkes had been sent on his way with the new information, and the others were already securing the house and its guilt.

Stella stopped by the SUV, "Is there any point in me protesting?"

"Nope. You can direct me. I drive faster, and…" he played his trump card with a flourish, "…the keys are in my pocket. I win."

She gave him a small smile, which was what he had hoped for, and slipped into the passenger seat, "This time."

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Mac woke from a dream of death and realised wretchedly that he was still alive, and still in darkness. But something of the dark had changed: beyond the blindness of his eyes was a different light; he sensed the shadow of dawn. He was lying on his back now, with the chill of stone tiles beneath him, hard against his skull. Still caught worse than a rabbit in a snare, with his hands behind him and almost dead of feeling. No feeling in his feet either. But when he breathed, oh god, each breath ripped and serrated his lungs.

Betraying him too, his heart pumped cold fire round his body and through his brain, leaving him only to wonder how long he had left. However long, it was going to be too long to suffer the whispered poison thoughts that the man had killed him with. Poison in his mind, and poison in his body. Mac knew the symptoms with the scientist mind left inside him. It told him what he could expect now, and how much time. But the man that was left, the man still living, held on somewhere within to the grain of hope he cherished in the part he had hidden away from the poison. He held onto the hope that he had not been killed with a lie. And that Stella, somehow, was still alive to find him so he would not die alone.

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Stella had said nothing more since they had driven away from Matthew's house with a shriek of abused car tyres and the linger of burnt rubber, other than terse directions once they reached Manhattan. Spooling through the light traffic, Flack glanced over at her and wondered at what he could say, or if there was anything he could say. A jay-walking pedestrian engaged him for a moment, while he slammed his hand on the horn and let the man know the dire consequences of holding up an impatient NYPD detective, "Yeah? Tell your mom to go…" He yelled out of the window after he swerved round him before remembering he was not driving alone, "Sorry, Stell."

"What?" She had not heard a word, "Did you ask me something?"

"Doesn't matter." He turned down an avenue and glanced again at her, "We almost there?"

"Two more blocks." She sighed and then turned to him, "You know something? Something's just struck me now, and it's the stupidest thing to even be thinking about right now, but…"

"But what? Look, you want to tell me something, I ain't gonna share it."

She looked out of the windscreen, unseeing, and then faced his eyes, her own unreadable, "I don't know what day it is, Flack." Her hands dropped into her lap. "I don't even know what day it is anymore."

He didn't know what to say to her.

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David Matthews watched the man, who he had dragged into the building a short time before, lying on the floor. He knew there was not much time left for him, nor much for himself. At some point soon they were going to figure out who and where he was, and he was in no doubt that leading the troops to arrest him would be the other detective and the woman he was waiting for. As he had told Mac. Only this time it would be real. He trusted his instincts.

Leaving the house had bought some time. Taking Mac to where they were now had bought a little more, but again he was certain that they would find their way to him. Which was something he was waiting for in anticipation. He had left little clues as to his identity, maybe deliberately. The truth which he would readily admit to, was that he was growing tired; of his life, and of his deaths. Each one had meant less and less to him, until he had seen the woman he knew would be the last one. His last love, and in so being, his most prized.

Matthews thought all this as he stood unpacking a large paper grocery bag. It contained everything he needed. He thought of the woman he was waiting for. She was why the man in front of him was lying there. She would come looking for him, and he would win her. It was in jealousy, he would be the first to admit it himself, that he had told Mac all that he had. Mac had what he did not, and he wanted him to feel something of the loneliness he did. It was his wish to damage the man who had stood beside the woman he wanted. So he had lied. And chosen the lie that he knew would cause the most damage.

He prided himself on reading people well; as he had stated earlier to Mac, with no trace of a lie, he liked watching people, and because he watched them, he learned about them. All their little weaknesses, their small mean actions, but also their loving actions and their vulnerabilities. People were Mac's vulnerability.

His thoughts ran on as he prepared himself, placing the empty paper bag beneath the table on which now lay a spiral of wire and a spray of purple roses. They were his last and they were only for her. For Stella. He thought about the lie he had told Mac, about the death of his own people. Those thoughts were a pleasure to him because he knew that the lie would soon become the truth. He laid something else beside the flowers and sat down patiently. There was not long to wait before the sound of a vehicle coming to a sudden stop in the parking lot was clear through the still, early air. Matthews smiled, and picked up his gun.

**Cliff-hangers? Me? Please let me know what you think of this chapter, it took a while to write. And I did originally intend that this story would only be 14 chapters long… Guess I'd better continue and see what happens : )**


	15. Chapter 15

-1**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY. Wish I did though.**

**Notes**** Many thanks as always for reviews, they're wonderful! I really do love reading them, and value all your comments. Please continue, or start now. Thanks also to everyone who has this on alert, always happy to hear your thoughts. **

**N.B. I haven't seen any of the recent episodes, so am writing Danny and Lindsay as they last appeared to me, and how I think they should appear.**

**Chapter 15: Breaking**

Thorns: Chapter 15

The last slip of sand through his hours' glass, almost gone. All he was now, just grains of sand shifting, swirling, slipping. Almost gone.

……………………….

Matthews heard the car doors slam and a voice he had heard before speaking to another which answered it. It was her voice that possessed his mind. They had come. Only two of them. It was all happening as he had surmised. Sometimes people were almost too predictable. He stood in the faint light of the room, loaded metal in his hand. Waiting.

…………………………….

They had seen what had to be Matthews' vehicle, only partially concealed behind two dumpsters in the parking lot, as they drove in. Stella was out of the car before Flack had even turned off the ignition. He moved equally as fast and caught up with her in seconds.

"Ambulance is on its way, we got backup if we need it close behind." Flack told her as they ran to the nearest way into the building.

"Good." She did not waste any more breath.

A fire escape door was closest to them, but it was immovable, and Stella shook the handle uselessly.

"Dammit!" She yelled, slamming her fist against it.

Flack pulled her on, "Leave it, we can get in another way. Main entrance must be round the corner."

It was. Double oak doors under an overly elaborate porch waited for them. Without the pause of a heartbeat, Flack shouldered into them, and almost fell through as they gave way without resistance.

"Hell…" He swore darkly, but softly and steadied himself in a second. His gun was already in his hand. Stella stepped in behind him, hers the same. They pirouetted in the wan morning light noting every shape in the veiled interior. Nothing moved inside a hallway which seemed too large and at the same time, telescoping in on them. It smelled of traces of bleach and a strange honey-sweet mustiness which clung to the wood work. Wood panelling along the walls dovetailed to a wooden floor. Doors either end of the hallway flanked a broad staircase which rose up into the shadow of the first floor. Stella gestured to Flack, indicating the door on the right. They moved forwards with noiseless steps.

…………………………..

"You done here, Montana?" Danny wrapped his fingers around her shoulder and felt the same tension there as he had in his, "If so, let's move. Something tells me this isn't gonna be straightforward."

"I'm done."

That strange sensation that carved hollows in his gut had not released him since the moment Sid informed them that Stella and Flack had gone to arrest Matthews. The cold sweat of relief he felt when he saw them both walking and talking had lulled it, but here it was again. Happening again. They had gone again, and so had his peace of mind.

A couple of uniformed officers stopped him as he quickened his and Lindsay's pace along the path. It took seconds to direct them. It took them seconds more to reach the car and hit the highway. Seconds that vanished in the first sulphurous glimpse of morning. But those seconds were more precious than he realised.

…………………….

Hawkes felt a shiver from head to toe as he stood pressing his palms together. Even in the familiar smell of hygiene and efficiency that was comforting to him, he was uneasy.

_How long does it need to take this guy? Come on!_

He rubbed the back of his head, not recognising his impatient self, and bit back the thought that had betrayed him. The sounds of rustlings and murmurings as the toxicologist searched for the pilocarpine far too slowly were hurting him. The receptionist sat fascinated by the pile of paper clips and folders in front of her. Hawkes gave her a desperate and unheeded look. More rustlings, cardboard boxes tumbling. He felt his fingers clamp the edge of the chest high counter, and watched the clock tick away the seconds. The sound they made was like the footfalls of a condemned man.

…………………….

Not long, not long now. They were inside the building, coming closer. The room he stood in elided to a tangle of briar thickets with him at their centre, waiting for his final flower. Rampant, delirious, strangling growth to trap them. He smiled at the image, and his hand hovered over the dark green stems of his roses. They dripped a bitter alkaline smell and it was sweet to him. Come into my garden, walk along the path of thorns. Poison thorns, dying flowers. It was sweet to him. He pulled a petal away from a flower head and crushed it in his palms, watching in satisfaction as the delicate lilac bruised to purple.

……………………….

"Clear!" Flack lowered his gun. The second empty room, door swinging against the wall. He kicked the door jamb hard, breathed deep, and gathered himself. Stella wasted no further time. With her heart banging at a dizzy rate, she was ahead of Flack and at the foot of the stairs, as thin as a shadow against the sharply carved banisters.

For only seconds she paused and reached out into the mind of silence surrounding her. One breath left her lips.

_Tell me where you are_.

Another breath.

_I know you're here._

One noiseless step.

_Where are you, Mac?_

Flack achromatized behind her as a glint of light reflected onto her skin. Pale clouded yellow slanted from an upstairs window. They ascended in its path.

_I will find you._

……………………………

This time Danny drove and Lindsay clung on beside him, racing back towards Manhattan, seeing the streets changed again. More cars, more traffic which he slalomed through.

A feather of hair fell across Lindsay's eyes and she pushed it back. It fell again and she dragged an impatient hand through her hair, "Speed up, Danny."

He looked at her with a lift of his eyebrows but did not argue. They flashed past the avenues. Danny seeing only the road ahead, Lindsay seeing the thoughts in her head.

She could not close her eyes to the spectres those thoughts were becoming. Down by her feet, her kit banged against the door with each ridge in the road. It banged the seconds away, marking time. Bang. Two seconds. Bang. Four seconds. Gone.

A scalpel blade cut the clouds and the sun trickled through above the waking city, as yellow as sand.

…………………….

Finally. The toxicologist appeared before Hawkes and had at least the grace to appear apologetic as he handed him what he needed.

"Er, yeah, sorry about that. Thought I knew where I'd put it. Don't know where these things go sometimes, y'know. Not something I have cause to hunt for often. Except, you know what? We had someone in a day or so ago, kid who'd…"

He was talking to Hawkes' back.

Without a backwards glance, and with a mental apology to the man, he ran through the building and to his car, wrenched it into drive and sped away.

…………………………

A pair of leather gardening gloves waited in his pocket. He fingered the rough surface and allowed himself to imagine once more the rose stems in his protected hands and her unprotected hands. Beautiful hands that he longed to caress. He listened into the tingling silence and heard the faintest echo of footsteps up the stairs. They were coming. His fingers twitched and his weight shifted slightly. In response a loose board underneath him groaned. Echoing footsteps, louder, hurrying now. He melded into the shadows.

……………………

It was the smallest sound, but in the breathless air, it was thunderous. They were heart-stopped still for an instant, and then they ran. The door was in front of them. Just a door, with a line of morning sun gold gleaming underneath it. Flack motioned to Stella, she nodded in understanding beside him and he counted down with his fingers. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. The door caved open against his body. Light gilded the edges of objects, and the outline of the man lying on the floor under the window.

"Mac!"

Stella's cry cut through like pain to his heart. She was half-way across the room to him, she almost reached him, but she was not given time.

………………………….

"Danny, this is it!" Lindsay grabbed his arm, and he swerved a sharp right into a narrow street. "Keep going to the end of this block, then we take a left and we're there."

"Got it."

They drove on. Time was swifter.

…………………..

Hawkes had never driven so fast. Or not that he could remember. But his speed and the shriek of the pushed-to-its-limits engine was the last thing he was thinking about. He prayed for empty streets and was not answered, losing the last of his composure as he reached the centre of Manhattan and its crawling traffic. His speed slowed, and time accelerated.

………………………

The unmistakeable sound of a safety catch clicking off stopped Stella and transformed her into a sculpture. Matthews laughed in delight behind them both, as he pressed dead metal into the base of Flack's skull and watched his pulse jump beneath it.

"That's right, Stella my dear. Stay completely still and I may not shoot him. Now, both of you, drop your weapons."

For a moment she stood, and then let the gun in her hand fall. Matthews dug the barrel of his own deeper into Flack's neck, enjoying the hiss of pain he caused, "Drop it. Unless you want me to shoot all of you."

The second gun dropped with a clatter. He nodded and savoured the power he now had. Three of them, disarmed, helpless. The one he wanted within arm's reach.

"Turn around very slowly and look at me, Stella." She held her head high and faced him, he could not deny the look of utter hatred and contempt she shot him with. It only strengthened his resolution. "Good. It's only fair of me to allow you to see what happens next."

His fingers tensed on the trigger, skin against steel, petals against wire. Time breathed. And then the man he thought he had controlled suddenly jerked and swung, caught him in the stomach. Matthews grunted, winded and for a vital second slackened his arm. Flack broke loose and twisted hold of his arm, struggling to shake the gun from his hand. Matthews was aware of Stella out of the corner of his eye reanimating and reaching down. But he recovered, swung all his weight into the younger man and sent him staggering into the centre of the room. He raised the gun and fired blindly, careless now, but he hit his target. Metal hit skin, flamed through flesh, struck bone. A body crashed to the ground.

…………………………..

"Stop here, wherever. Just stop the car."

Lindsay was suffering the same foreboding as Danny, and she felt as they flung themselves out of the car a muscle under her eye begin to tic. She rubbed it fiercely, angry at the weakness and steadied her trembling hand on her glock.

Danny felt his heart beating in his stomach, and suddenly, inappropriately, but helplessly remembered that he had not eaten for eight hours. It didn't matter. It really didn't matter right now. He followed Lindsay round the corner of the building.

………………………..

He was moving, at last, Hawkes' imprecations had worked and the sluggish lines of yellow cabs began finally to move forwards. Pulling together every iota of his energy and skill, he cut through the traffic and sliced along the clogged veins of the city. The little cardboard box in his pocket that meant everything dug into his side, the seatbelt pulled tight around its bulge. It felt of nothing to him. All he felt was the time bleeding away.

………………………

"_No_! You _bastard_!" Stella shrieked catching at Flack as his weight dropped to the ground beside her, almost pulling her with him. Scrabbling desperately to find her gun and at the same time, trying to find the life within him and reach Mac, she lost time and Matthews lunged forwards and grabbed for her.

"Too late, Stella." She saw his smile, felt heavy fingers grasping hold of her arms, pinning them to her side and hauling her up, "I've been waiting for so long. You have no idea how long."

He was strong, the strength of yearning and obsession overpowered her and she was dragged helplessly stumbling across the floor. Towards the table at the edge of the room where she saw what was waiting for her.

"I don't think so, Matthews," She gasped, "_You're_ too late, give up now, while you can, let them go, let me call for help, they're injured, let me get them out of here and we can sort this out. Don't make it any worse…" She broke off with a cry as he twisted her wrists together roughly with one hand. He grabbed the coil of wire in his other hand. Pulled her closer to him.

"You don't understand, Stella, and that saddens me." He said, and she caught the scent of roses that lay waiting, "It was never about them, ever. It was for _you_. This is for _you_."

His hands were a vice around her, she could not break free, so instead she slackened her body, letting herself drop limp. It won her a second of time as he fractionally loosened his grip, and she wrenched one hand free, reached for the edge of the table to give her momentum, and swung her weight.

Matthews toppled forwards, but caused Stella to fall awkwardly. She couldn't stop a scream of pain as her wrist cracked unmistakably. But it didn't matter. It freed her and she threw herself forwards away from the man, and finally her fingers closed around what she wanted.

"Stella, please, you're all I want…"

He was lurching towards her, reaching, white hands grasping. She fired once and for a second he swayed, shock replacing the hunger in his eyes, and then he fell backwards, striking the floor hard.

A second burnt away. Stella sank to her knees as the door flew open. Danny. Lindsay. Names only now in her head. They were safe, they did not need her thoughts. She could only think of the two who now lay before her, who needed everything she could give them.

**Perhaps I could have put a warning at the beginning that some characters may have been hurt in the writing of this chapter… Please let me know your thoughts! More in two days.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer ****I own very little, especially not CSI NY. Wish I did though.**

**Notes**** Thank you VERY MUCH for reviews, they're wonderful! I really do love reading them, and value all your comments. Please continue, or start now. Thanks also to everyone who has this on alert, always happy to hear your thoughts. **

**Chapter title is from Mr Shakespeare's The Scottish Play Act 1 sc. 1 : ) It seemed appropriate.**

**N.B. Still haven't seen any recent episodes, so am writing Danny and Lindsay as they last appeared to me, and how I think they should appear.**

**Chapter 16: When the battle's lost and won**

Thorns: Chapter 16

She saw them only as adumbrations as they fell into the room, two of them, one missing. Their names that she had held only a moment ago flash-fired away. But someone was missing. Where was the other one who should be here with them? He had what was important. She needed him there because Mac needed him. Flack would need him.

One of the two though was at Flack's side already. The other ran to her, and she felt his hands clasped round her shoulders, hands that scorched like red hot iron. She couldn't see his eyes behind discs of molten rubies. Glasses, sunlight, reflections. Danny. His name came back. He was saying something to her, but the words were ashes before she could understand them. She didn't need him though, Mac needed him. He had to understand that.

……………………………

As soon as they heard the shot at the foot of the staircase, they had flown up it like wildfire, Danny yelling for an ambulance and assistance into his radio. What they found inside the open door glaciated them: three fallen; two who should not have; one who was about to. Lindsay moving as fast as shock would allow dropped down beside Flack, tore aside his coat and found her hands trembling over a bullet hole burned scarlet through his shirt and into his skin. His face was ivory and his eyes were dark lines scored across it. She tapped his cheek urgently, "Flack! Come on, talk to me, Don."

She found the entry wound, a sharp toothed hole immediately below his collar bone, blood welling from it in slow pulses. A cold slick of sweat washed over her.

"Come on, Don. You gotta talk to me, tell me what happened. Come on!" As carefully as possible, she pulled away the scorched material around the injury and pressed on a pad of gauze, all the while keeping her eyes on his, "You hearing me, Don Flack?"

………………………

Danny, seeing Lindsay take over Flack, faced a moment of indecision that almost paralysed him. Stella in front of him, looking as if collapse was two beats away, and Mac lying motionless a width from her. He found he couldn't face the possibility that Mac was… that he was… No, not yet.

There was no movement from Matthews, nor would there ever be again, he knew with a glance that there was no need to waste time on him now. Explanations could come later. He bobbed down in front of Stella, and took hold of her.

Her eyes were looking at him, but she was not, "Talk to me, Stella, are you hurt? Are you okay?"

She didn't speak. The gun in her hand slipped from her fingers, and she pushed him away from her, pulling herself up at the same time. Her other hand hung at her side. Danny kept his hand firmly on her shoulder, feeling the bones underneath, and knew that she was injured, and that at that moment there was nothing he could do about it. He turned with her into the shaft of sunlight through the window and they reached Mac.

………………………………...

With fingers that no longer felt part of her, she pulled away the blindfold that hid his eyes. But underneath, they were still concealed from her by his eyelids. She was only just aware of Danny pressing his fingers against his neck listening for his breathing. Her hand found its way to Mac's chest, fire and ice in her fingertips.

_I told you I'd find you. _

Hope was the unforced rhythm of her heart. Hope that the other heart she held as her own would not fail, because it was in her keeping and she could not do without its care. She became hope.

_Now I won't let you go._

……………………………….

A muscle in his face moved under the skin. The lines of his closed eyes stretched, widened and split open finally. Lindsay held her breath watching him, and asked again, "Can you hear me, Don?"

His lips moved, and she breathed out joyfully.

"I hear ya. Don' speak s'loud." He mumbled, "Wha' happened?"

She squeezed his hand, "You were shot, Matthews shot you."

Panic in his eyes, they widened, "He shot Stell? No, Linds…"

"No, no, Don, it's okay, she's okay. He didn't shoot her."

His face relaxed, his eyes closed, "That's good, real good…" Eyes jerked open again, "Where's Mac? We found him, Linds. He's okay?"

Lindsay looked away from him, with a fearful glance towards Mac's prone form, almost hidden from her by Danny and Stella crouched next to him, heads lowered. Turning back to Flack with a smile lying on her face she said, "He's okay too. It's fine, just hang in there yourself, ambulance'll be here in minutes."

………………………….

"Mac! C'mon, Mac, I need to hear ya." Danny searched for a pulse, "Come on, Mac, we only just got here, don't you have gone and left us man. I ain't going to accept that."

Seconds dallied past. Hope was fleeing from his heart. But he found what he was wanting more than anything at that moment, an ebb of life, weak under his fingers. His own pulse throbbed in every part of his body. There was still hope.

Keeping one hand on Mac's neck, and the other on her shoulder, Danny spoke firmly to Stella, "Listen, Stell, he's alive, I got a pulse from him. I just don't know how much longer we've got. I've got a bus on its way, and Hawkes is gonna be here any second, but you need to do something for me, okay? Okay?" He shook her slightly, but failed to reach her, "Stella, listen to me! I need you back with me, here, now." Without the intent, but it was still the outcome, his hand moved down to hers, the one that was a lifeless weight in the folds of her coat, and grasped cold, white fingers causing her a ragged breath of pain. He let go, hurting for her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. Let me look, please, what have you done?" Eyebrows raised, hand out offering, Danny waited for her, "It's okay, Stell. I promise you, Mac's gonna be okay, Hawkes is coming, I promise. Lindsay's looking after Flack, _he's _gonna be okay." He looked over at Lindsay then, and felt a flood of relief at her confirmation of this, "I just want to make sure _you're_ all right. "

Something of her self, he could see, was returning to her eyes, even though her face was whiter than bone. More gently than he thought he was capable of, he reached out and cupped Stella's hand in his whilst offering a prayer to whoever was listening that he was not lying to her about anything.

………………………….

He had hurt her; the pyretic spasm that shot up her hand and wrist when he touched it had almost consumed her. But it also revived something, and she remembered her name which she had not even realised had been missing. Stella felt Danny delicately probing her wrist, and clenched her jaw so that her teeth ached. The agony it was causing her, she closed away from her mind, and put all her thought into the life of the man whose heart was beneath her hand. She saw an image of a candle flame, quivering, rising and falling, and held it steady in her mind. His flame. She thought of Matthews and vowed that as he had not had her life, nor would he have Mac's death. He would have nothing.

The howl of sirens jarred her suddenly back, at last, there was still hope. But still Hawkes was not here, she had to know.

Feeling like ice was splintering in her mouth as she spoke, she looked at Danny, "Hawkes. Where is he?"

He darted a nervous look at her, "He's coming, trust me. He'll be here."

She looked at the empty doorway and felt despair, "He's not here."

"He will be."

He released her hand, and she managed this time to suppress any sound. Her jaw tightened, her teeth bit hard into the side of her mouth.

"I think you've broken your wrist, I can't do much with it, but when Hawkes…" Danny stopped.

Footsteps, one set, pounding up the stairs, the man they had been waiting for was at their side.

………………………..

Hawkes wasted no more time. The anger and frustration at his delays that had invaded him, he put to good use in the swift action of assessing Mac and delivering the antidote in seconds. It was all he could do. Life was there, just, but precarious in him. The rest now was up to Mac himself and the tenacity that drove his life for others. If he could only use it for himself.

Hawkes rocked back on his heels and glanced at Danny, who bayoneted him with his words, "What happened?"

"It wasn't my fault…" The words slipped out, and he hated himself for them. Danny offered him redemption though, "I know that man, you don't have to offer excuses, you know that." It made him feel a thousand stabs of guilt.

"Stella…" He turned to the woman at Mac's side, "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner…"

His eyes were pleading, needing her to either blame him or exculpate him, but she did neither. She turned away from his eyes, and Hawkes was left staring into his own darkness.

…………………….

Flack was breathing with peaceful regularity, and the blood from the wound was at least no longer the loss it had been. Lindsay still watched him with troubled eyes though. His eyes had been closed for a moment, and then he opened them again, gazed at her. The sirens had stopped and she could hear doors banging downstairs, noise and voices coming upstairs.

"That the bus? Make sure they take Mac first, 'kay? I'm doing okay here."

She smiled wryly at him, "You don't get much choice in the matter, Flack, anyhow, there's room for both of you. Hate to tell you this, but you're gonna need a bit of patching up yourself."

He scowled, and revealed the pain that he was suffering along the lines in his skin and the loss of the usual sapphire shine in his eyes, "I hate hospitals, don't let them keep me any longer than they have to. You got that, Lindsay?"

"I got it, don't worry."

"And don't let Messer sit at my bedside."

She grinned, real relief, "I'll keep a close rein on him."

The room filled with people, and she kept hold of him, smiling, reassuring, hiding him from what might be.

…………………………

Stella had not heard what Hawkes had said. She heard his words, but lost the meaning. The candle flame burned like white gold in her mind. She kept her eyes only on Mac, and let the voices around her speak without meaning. Now there were more voices and faces. Faces appeared and disappeared in front of hers, tinged red around the edges, charred paper outlines. Everything was shrinking and burning until all she had left was sensation in her hands: in one, pain searing every nerve; and in the other, the faint beat of hope. It was all she had left.

**I hope this managed to live up to the last chapter. Please let me know what you think - a writer lives by her readers : )**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY. Wish I did though.**

**Notes**** Thank you VERY MUCH for reviews, I'm so happy! I love reading them, and value all your comments. Please continue, or start here! Thanks also if this is on alert, always happy to hear your thoughts. Sorry this is a bit late, assignments, hate them : (**

**N.B. Further to BlueShadowdancer's note, we're far from rivals, in fact we share a love and understanding of characters, and possibly also take a small amount of satisfaction in keeping them and our readers in suspense ****; ) Hope you're enjoying both our stories. Lily x **

**Chapter 17: Morning**

Thorns: Chapter 17

Shifting sands and arid whispers surrounded him. Coruscating, coalescing, combining. Grains became fragments, became pieces, became parts of a whole. Not quite gone, not quite whole.

………………………………

In the half-light awareness between the sun and the sky, was where Stella held herself. And held a flame dancing and swaying in her mind.

Sunlight and a beam of warmth stung her face. Outside now, stone under her feet. A hand guiding her, steps.

"Carefully…"

"We got him, lift him…"

"Take him…"

She held on.

Motion. The rise and fall of the road, sirens far away. Voices almost in her head, hiding from her eyes. She saw nothing but his face. A hand was resting on her shoulder. Pain still somewhere inside her, fire in front of her, a vulcanised heart.

"Stella…"

"Pressure's dropping…"

"We're losing…"

She held on for him.

The road rose and fell and then rocked to a standstill. Doors clanging, more voices, shouting, urgent. Sounds like wires vibrating in her head. Someone, hand on her back now, pushing her forwards. Her hand still held the sensation of a flutter of hope.

"Clear…"

"Take him through…"

"Still with us…"

He held on.

She held on until she could go no further. More hands around her. Faces that were pale negatives of the sun in her eyes. Solar fires beyond them.

"Leave him now…"

"In good hands…"

"Let him go…"

The sky ignited around her. Flames desperate to engulf. Nothing left to hold onto. She let go.

And felt his hand seize hold of hers.

………………………

Lindsay did not take her eyes from Flack the whole ride to the hospital. After seeing Danny guiding Stella, who seemed to have slipped into a death-like trance as Mac was taken away, she had stayed with Flack. Hawkes had taken himself away after making sure everyone else was in the right place. Something was wrong there though, Lindsay saw it in his eyes not quite looking into hers. He had stayed with Mac until he was carried from the room, and then he had drawn back, caught in solitude. Something was wrong, but for the moment, she would have to let him go.

Flack's eyes stayed closed as they soared through the rush hour traffic back into the city, sunlight strobing through buildings as they passed, and so Lindsay was left with her thoughts for company. The third time in just a few hours that she had sped along this route, little thinking the previous times that this would be how she travelled on the last journey. Her other thoughts were darker and streaked round her mind like furies. How had this happened? She glanced at Flack's unconscious form and felt anger start to shudder in her, as she thought about what damage one man had done. To him, to Mac, to Stella. So much damage. She could not think without horror of what Matthews had done to Mac. If he was… No_, no_. That thought she slammed back screaming into the untouchable. Trying to cleave to herself, she held her face in her hands, and felt the cold of the metal seat beneath seep into her skin. Breathed in the smells of lint, antiseptic, and the unmistakeable iron reek of blood. How had this happened?

A hand was laid on her shoulder, and a gentle voice spoke to her without startling, "Are you all right there? You look a little…"

Lindsay looked up at the rainwater-blue eyes of one of the paramedics and managed a small smile, "I'm okay, thanks. Just shocked I guess, at… at everything that's happened. And worried. How… how is he?" She turned her eyes back to Flack who seemed to be breathing peacefully, his chest rising and falling, his skin looking a little less like wax.

The older woman smiled at her, "He's doing good, considering he took a bullet. Really he is." Lindsay had given a helpless lift of her eyebrows, "You did a good job back there, he'd have lost a lot more blood if you hadn't done what you did."

Her cheeks flushed, "Thank you, but I only did what any of us would have." She felt her muscles pull back from her bones a little, but still had to ask, "Detective Taylor, I don't suppose you know…?"

The ambulance hit a bump in the road, and Flack stirred with a groan, causing Lindsay to shake her head, "Never mind, we'll find out."

The paramedic was already turned back to her patient. Lindsay turned back to the torment of her thoughts.

………………………

For the second time, Hawkes drove himself alone back through the city, but careless this time of other cars around him, unable to forget the damage he had seen when he entered that room. He was unable to even begin to think about healing himself and the guilt that had etched its way into the lines now showing on his forehead. In his mind he saw again helplessly the cruelty inflicted on Mac, and felt his stomach heave with abhorrence. If he had been too late… if his delay had condemned Mac… he saw again Stella turning away from him. He condemned himself and felt his heart bleed tears of scalding lead.

……………………….

Danny was waiting for Lindsay as she jumped down after Flack was lifted out, and they both held onto the sides of the gurney as he was wheeled in. Neither asked or answered the questions that they longed to. Not yet.

Flack's half-opened filmy eyes, and spoke, his voice slipping on his words, "You still here, Linds'?"

"Still here, Flack, got no place else to go." She gave his arm a gentle rub, "Hang in there."

"I'm goin' nowhere. Don' hang round though, go see Mac, make sure he's okay, and Stell, go check on them, right?"

"I will. Don't worry. We'll see you very soon, promise."

He was taken through, and they watched him out of sight. Lindsay then felt an arm banding her waist with warmth, "Danny? Tell me, please. _Oh!_" Her hand flew to her mouth as she turned into the light of his smile, "Is it…?"

"Good news, Montana? Yes, for now. He's not out of danger, but it looks like Hawkes got to him in time. Mac's got a chance, a good chance." His eyes clouded for a moment, "I'll tell you now though, it was damn close. If Hawkes _hadn't_ got there when he did, or if Flack and Stell hadn't found him when they did, I… I don't want to think it, Linds." He shook his head, and she encircled him, two pressed together, and took with her finger the water that lay on his cheek.

"Danny, it's okay. They _did_ get there in time." She wrapped her fingers around his hand and unclenched his fist, "He's still with us, they _all_ are. Mac doesn't go down that easily, does he? And Flack's going to be okay, do you think he'd let a bullet stop him?"

Danny shook his head, anger in his tightened jaw, "It should _never_ have happened. How dare that bastard Matthews do what he did? To all of them. God if you'd have seen the way he'd tied that wire. He wanted Mac to suffer, really suffer and that sickens me, you don't know how much. And you didn't see Stella. I almost lost her back there. I tell ya Lindsay, if Mac hadn't … I just don't know what she would have done"

"But he did, and she'll be okay as well." Lindsay whispered, and Danny brushed his hand across her eyes.

They were silent for a few moments, letting the sounds of the corridor swirl round them unheeded.

"Where are they?" She asked, pulling back from his shoulder.

"They're taking Mac into recovery, and I finally managed to persuade Stella to have herself seen to. I'm more than certain she broke her wrist, but I don't think she even cared. I don't know what happened before we arrived, but I can make a damn good guess. When I saw them, when I saw Flack…" He pressed his forehead against Lindsay's, "They're all, no, _we're_ all going to have a hell of a lot to work through here."

"But we're not on our own, none of us is. You know that, Danny."

"I do." And he did. Her eyes, her voice and the beat of her heart that he felt against his skin told him nothing less.

……………………..

Almost unseen, Hawkes crept into the building, in time to see Danny drawing Lindsay into an embrace. Suddenly he was too heavy to move, his heart and blood were lead, he could only stand in grief as he saw what that embrace must mean. His life began to unwind in front of him, he could feel it tearing past as his knees became too weak to hold him, he was breaking…

"Hawkes!" Someone pulled him up, someone who had intuition as to what was his burden, someone with eyes as brown as his that offered warmth to him, "It's all right, Mac's alive, it's going to be okay. Flack's going to be all right. You got there in time, it's okay."

She pulled him up.

………………………

The room was as still as he expected, pale green light filtered through the drapes touching the room with a lambent tranquillity. Stella sat in the chair by the bed, the place he had expected to find her, and as he had hoped to find her, with her eyes closed and face peaceful. More peaceful than he had seen it in many days. Hawkes sighed softly, and turned to look at the man sleeping in the bed, whose wrist was clasped by the woman at his side. He turned to leave and was stopped by a soft voice.

"I'm not asleep." For the first time in too long he felt a smile relax his face.

He faced her, and used the same low tones, "So I see. How are you?"

"Better than I've felt in a long time, I feel like… like I've woken from a nightmare, it was like nothing was real anymore, after Mac disappeared, I felt like something had stopped inside me…" She looked away, into the room, "I don't know how to describe it."

Hawkes crossed the room to her, "You don't need to, it doesn't matter."

"I need to thank you." She startled him.

"Why? For what? Stella, I was almost too late, if I could have got there sooner, please believe me, I would, but…"

Stella stopped him, lending him her hand against his cheek, "You got there, Hawkes. That's it, that's what matters. Hold on to that."

He nodded speechlessly and allowed her hand to rest where it was for a moment.

For a few more minutes he stayed, until he saw that she really had fallen asleep. As quietly as his heart was beating, he placed a cover around her shoulders and walked out of the room, lighter than the day he walked into.

**Not quite over. I know I've said this a couple of times, but I struggled a bit with this chapter, so all comments appreciated, even if you didn't like it. Hope you did though x**


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY. Wish I did though.**

**Notes**** Well, this is it, the last chapter : ( I'll really miss this story, it's one of the longest I've ever written. I had no idea when I started this that it would end up here! Thank you very much for reading through, I hope you've enjoyed it. If you've not reviewed before but have read it, I'd love to know what you thought overall, I will reply.**

**Thank you so much for the reviews I have had, I've been overwhelmed, and have loved reading every one. Thank you again, all the comments and feedback have really helped my writing, I do appreciate the time taken to send them. I hope this is a good ending. Enjoy!**

**Chapter 18: Endings and beginnings**

Thorns: Chapter 18

Three weeks later:

"Well, well, well. I've finally managed to track you down. Been hiding out?

Flack looked up to see Danny standing over him, one hand casually, and at the same time possessively, on the corner of his desk. "They cleared you for work then, huh?" He continued.

"Takes more than a bullet to stop me, Messer."

"Uh huh. That's good to know. Good for you." Danny picked up a pencil.

"That's mine…"

And began flipping it up in the air from the back of his hand, catching it deftly in his palm, "That's _very_ good to know, Don. Sooo, what's new? Are you having a nice day?"

The pencil continued its ascent and descent. Flack felt his eyes drawn hypnotically to it, up and down, up and down, before he snapped back out and glared at Danny suspiciously, a remembrance stirring in the back of his mind that here was unfinished business.

"I don't like the way you're looking at me, Messer. You'd better not be coming to sit at my desk now I'm back here. I warned you enough about that at the hospital."

Unable to stand any more of the pencil spinning up and down, he snatched it out of the air and slammed it away in his desk drawer.

Danny grinned at him in the manner of a cat grinning at a fledgling; a lame fledgling, with no place left to run, "Admit it, you loved my company."

Flack snorted, now very wary. Danny grabbed an apple off his desk and began twirling it by its stalk, round and round, clockwise, anti-clockwise.

"Put down my lunch…"

The stalk snapped. Flack's apple fell with a bruising thud onto the floor.

"Oops." Danny smirked.

Flack felt a muscle in his jaw begin to twinge, and the scar below his collarbone made itself known with an ache. He smacked his notebook down, "All right! Enough with the screwing about and _touching my things_. What have I done and what do you want from me?"

"Flack, you misjudge me! Who says I want anything?" Danny was wide-eyed, hands now shoved into his pockets.

"I do."

"Then you'd be right. Here's the thing, Flack. I want a confession from you. Confirming what you let slip whilst you were in a, let's say _talkative,_ state of painkillers." His voice turned thoughtful, "I learned a lot sitting at your bedside. A lot of interesting information. _Very_ interesting…" He pinned him to his seat with a feline smile.

Flack was now nothing more than a morsel of prey, "Danny…"

"3am Flack. Anything more you'd care to share about that?"

Flack licked dry lips and experienced a quiet panic, "No idea what you're talkin' about. Memory must've been affected…"

"Like hell, Flack. You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about. All that torture you put me through - the winking, the mouthing, the notes on the windscreen. Is it comin' back to you now, huh? Had fun did ya?"

It all rushed through Flack's mind, and he felt a spasm in his leg as he clenched his muscles. He dredged up a sickly smile and picked up the apple to offer to Danny, "3 am, huh? Wow. You remembered. So, uh, what did I say about it, after I'd been _shot_ remember, that may or may not be the truth?"

Danny scoured the apple on his jacket, inspected it and tore a bite from it, "The truth? Truth is Flack, as well you know, there was no 3am was there?" He chewed and swallowed, gazed again at the apple and then rocketed it into the trash can.

Flack followed its trajectory despondently, "Fine. You want the truth, then no, nothing ever happened at 3am, unless you count me escorting you home and seeing you safely to your front door, as only a good buddy would. Hold onto that thought, Dan. I guess I thought it would be a bit of fun to, y'know, make you think otherwise."

It was Danny's turn to snort, "So you're the kind of good buddy that puts me through torment? Do you have any idea what you did to me? Making me duck down behind cars, jump at every footstep behind me…"

"Hey, take a joke. I was only _messing_ with you, Messer." He couldn't stop his face sliding into a smirk, hastily extinguished.

Danny shook his head slowly, "Nice. That's nice. You disappoint me, Don, and that leaves only one thing for me to do." He stared hard at him and then smiled, and Flack felt the disquieting sensation of being smeared on a glass and clamped under a microscope.

"What? _What? _Tell me and get outta my face. I'm sure there's plenty for you to be doing back in your lab."

The smile on Danny's face widened, "Oh I'm sorry, am I keeping you from something? So. What am I going to do, Don? I'll tell ya buddy. Nothing."

Flack twitched, "Nothing?" This was surely too good to be true.

His tone was beatific, "Nothing."

Calmly purloining Flack's pen, he began to stroll away towards the door. Flack watched him retreat and was claiming victory with a triumphant smile, he could spare a pen or two, when Danny stopped, turned round and spoke again.

"Nothing _as_ _yet_. It's gonna take a little time to plan my revenge, so just keep watching your back. Always watching. Catch you later."

Whistling something Flack was horribly sure he recognised, he was gone; leaving the blue eyed detective with the spoils of defeat and echoes of _I'll be watching you _knelling in his ears.

……………………………

It was early afternoon. The light in Mac's office was a pale opalescence, streaming its way around each object that was his, and flickering amongst the grains of dust in the empty air. Stella stood in the doorway with her hand pressed against the glass feeling it cold as silk under her palm. Her eyes were far away beyond the walls and beyond the city drifting behind the window. She lifted her fingers from the solid-water surface, revealing the ghost of their imprint traced in pearl. The room was empty, but she filled it with memory.

She stood alone, just breathing, until the glassed image of the man whose memories she was holding placed his living, existing arm around her shoulders. A smile that was sunshine on green seas danced in her eyes, and she turned to him, meeting delight in return.

"Stella. I thought I'd find you here."

She held him, her own arms encircling the all of him with all of her, "You know where to find me, Mac."

"You knew where to find me." Memory was between them; words, understanding, and conviction that would never need to be spoken but which they knew as the faith between them.

Time left them in its wake, unaware, drifting on. Time did not matter.

Mac spoke as he felt the glow of the sun on his back and in Stella's eyes, "Walk with me."

There was an amused quirk in her eyebrows, "Where to? Don't tell me we've run out of cases, Mac Taylor."

He smiled, mirroring hers, and still felt the cadence of her heart with his, it was his stronghold. "Never, not unless something has gone very wrong with the city we both know and love." He spoke from his heart to her, "There's time enough for them. I want to walk here, no further than the walls of the lab, just here."

She understood, and offered her arm to him, "Of course. Where shall we go first?"

Careful of the bandage still stark white around her wrist, Mac accepted her offer, "Wherever we pass. I'm happy simply to be here again."

Even with his hand rested light as sunlight on her arm, Stella felt the weight of his life underneath it and the heart that she carried even more carefully now. The memory of what she had so very nearly lost still phantomed through her dreams when she was able to sleep. She laid her other hand across his and they walked along the corridor.

Mac watched her unseen as they walked and saw the traces of everything that had happened still caught round her like cobwebs. They were there in the slight hollows in her face, the flick of her eyes to the side, nervous of a trick of light and the pressure of her fingers on his skin. All of this gave cold fusion to the anger he kept inside him at what David Matthews had done. His own damage he did not count, other than what it had impelled all of his people, but especially Flack and Stella, to do. He would give anything to have spared them all that they had suffered in consequence, for him. Their injuries he wished he could have taken as his own. It was his profound thankfulness that he found them and himself now back in the place that was an element of his soul, and that he was at the side of the person who was another. The two where his whole.

Stella saw too as they passed the rooms of Mac's life all that cast its shadow on him; the flesh that was missing from his form, the bones she could feel under the skin of his arm, avatars of the horror she could as yet only guess that he had endured. Time would bring them away though, in time she knew he would allow her to take them from him.

Citrine sun beams darted through the windows and they passed through them, casting a rhythm of light and dark to the sound of their footsteps. The sounds of the others were muffled beyond the walls, but they watched them and shared the pleasure of all that they did. Only Hawkes looked up as they walked by and his eyes showed the joy of the day to see them.

In time they found themselves back at the door of Mac's office, and he held the door open for Stella to enter. She pulled his chair out for him, and then sat herself down opposite. Light teased starshine glints in her hair as she smiled at Mac.

"Back to work? I don't know how much longer we can keep our absence justified."

He felt the warmth of her smile spilling into his heart and he shared it with her, "I'm the boss, remember? I'm allowed to spend a little time in my office. And besides, I need a few more minutes of your time." Mac held her eyes, enjoying their inquisitive look, "I have something for you."

He produced a small box, made of folded card and patterned with red and gold. A loop of ribbon held it closed.

Stella took it from his hand and felt no weight inside, "What is it?"

With a smile he replied, "The answer's inside, Stella. You have to open it first."

"The simplest answer." She delicately pulled away the ribbon and unfolded the top.

"No roses." He said in answer to her unspoken thought, "But the colour is as it should be."

In her hand she held what she already possessed of him, captured in blood red paper. A darker drop appeared in its centre. Her eyes were star bright, "It's in safe keeping, Mac. Always."

His hand reached hers, "As yours is with me, Stella. Always."

THE END

**I can't believe I've finished this! It feels like a journey, and I'm actually very sad to finish now. I hope so much you've enjoyed it, and that the ending was good. As I said above, please, please let me know what you thought, of this chapter and the story as a whole. I will be continuing Falling Leaves in the next few days, and have a few more ideas. But any ideas or challenges welcomed also. Lily x**


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